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THE LOGGER 



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THE LOGGER 


BY 

SALONE ELLIS 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 







Copyright, 1924 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(Incorporated) , 




Printed in the United State* of America 


THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 

THE BOSTON BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 


TO 

MY HUSBAND 
WALTER HENRY ELLIS 










/ 















V 





































r 




i 






















CONTENTS 


Book I. Kingdom op Man. 1 

Book II. The Great Urge. 107 

Book III. The Silent Call. 203 

Book IV. To Him is Given. 283 






BOOK I 

KINGDOM OF MAN 



THE LOGGER 


CHAPTER I 

For four minutes Posey Murry bounded up and 
down on her hat in blind rage. A deer treading a 
snake to death beneath the terrific blows of its feet 
could have no more disastrous intent. With almost 
savage delight Posey accompanied this attack with 
a volley of contemptuous outbursts, of which the 
word “ damn ” was most prevalent. 

She was not conscious of the harsh note her voice 
made upon the deep, cool quietude of the forest, nor 
the contrast between it and the low murmuring of 
* the wind in the tree tops or the creek tinkling 
merrily somewhere off in the woods. 

The first wild fury of her passion spent, Posey 
reached down and picked up the piteously faded 
green velvet hat. It hung limply in her hand like 
something that had once been alive. For a moment 
she felt almost as if she were an assassin. Her 
scorn seemed to change to a hint of compassion. 
Yet determined that her sympathy should not 
master her this time, she quickly threw the hat 
into the road again. She was going to repeat the 
attack when something prompted her to pause. 
She looked up. 


1 


2 


THE LOGGER 


From behind a tree near-by a man’s head was 
visible. Two amused yet curious grey eyes peered 
out at her. 

Posey’s chin shot up. Her eyes flashed. 

“ Well — how’d yu like it? ” 

The man came slowly from his hiding place. 
There was a hint of pity in the eyes which searched 
hers. He had intended to express his regret at 
being obliged to witness such a painful scene, but 
Posey’s manner perplexed him. He decided to 
make no apologies. 

“I — I don’t believe I feel free to express my 
opinion.” His tone was grave. Then he smiled. 
“ I must admit the game is new to me.” 

Posey’s lower jaw dropped. She looked at him 
bewildered. 

“ If yu don’t know that ever’ time a logger gits 
mad he jumps on his hat or — or even sometimes 
when he’s most awful glad —well, then yu ain’t no 
logger.” She paused. Her eyes narrowed. She 
looked at the man curiously as if, but that instant, 
her thoughts had reverted enough from her own 
distress to realize that the person who stood before 
her was a stranger. Then in a flash she noted the 
neat khaki suit, the smoothly shaven face and other 
marks of distinction which proved him to be 
different from the class of men to which she was 
accustomed. This discovery surprised her, but it 
did not embarrass her. She frowned thoughtfully. 
“If — if yu ain’t a logger, then who be yu?” 

The amused smile returned to the other’s eyes. 


THE LOGGER 


3 


“ But I am a logger.” 

Posey shook her head belligerently 

“ Humph-umph. Nope, yu ain’t no logger — 
’cause loggers wears the tail o’ their shirt out an’ 
they stag their pants clean up tu here.” She bent 
over to draw one hand across her skirt just below 
the knee. “ See.” 

Pretending to be a trifle perplexed the man 
lifted one eyebrow thoughtfully. 

“ They don’t dress that way all the time, do 
they?” 

“Well, no. They put on their best clothes when 
they go to town to git soused. But they never wear 
a rig like that —” She indicated his norfolk coat 
and trousers. Her manner portrayed a hint of 
exaltation; as if she could not conceal a feeling that 
this stranger wore the uniform of some high rank. 

Flushing a bit beneath her steady and admiring 
gaze, he gave a quick, impulsive gesture. 

“ Suppose we forget all that and become 
acquainted. I think, perhaps, we are going to be 
neighbors. I moved my family in to Humptulips 
last week, and we expect to be here some time.” 
Lifting his hat he extended a cordial hand. Not 
quite understanding his gallantry, Posey hesitated 
as she held out a tanned but smooth-fingered hand. 
The color mounted to her cheeks as she felt the 
firm grasp of his fingers when they closed over hers. 
“ My name is Alden, David Alden,” he went on. 
“ I boast of being President, Vice-President and 
General Manager of the Alden Logging Works —” 


4 


THE LOGGER 


Posey gave a gasp of surprise. 

“ Yu don’t mean that yer the new man that —” 

He nodded. 

“ Yes, the new and very green man just out from 
the East.” Alden laughed. “ I understand that is 
my reputation up here in the woods! My inten¬ 
tions are to log off some timber which a relative 
was kind enough to leave me in his will.” For a 
moment his manner was somewhat detached, then 
he smiled reminiscently. “ I might a. i that this 
inheritance came to me at a time when it was 
greatly appreciated —” He stopped sudden 1 ' i 
look of pain had crept into Posey’s eyes, ii WaJ 
plainly evident that her thoughts were not on 
what he was saying. “ Why, what is the matter? ” 

His attention was too pronounced. Posey 
blushed and looked down. It was unusual to have 
any one so interested in her. She was a trifle con¬ 
fused. But a moment later, now mistress of herself, 
she looked up again. 

“ Oh, Lordy, yu heard me cuss a’ready.” Her 
brow clouded. “ But — but I had something to 
cuss about. ” Now that her grievance had returned, 
her chin drew up in self-pity. 

Alden was touched by this. 

“I am sorry to hear that you are in trouble. 
Would it relieve you to tell me, Miss — I believe 
I did not get your name.” 

Posey eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, as 
if deliberating whether she should become confi¬ 
dential with this distinguished-appearing stranger. 


THE LOGGER 


5 


Then finding the conviction in his eyes, she started 
out upon a brief biography. Alden found that he 
had touched a vulnerable spot and he listened 
patiently. 

“ All some people calls me is ‘ a bold hussy.’ 
An’ when my ole man gits drunk he calls me 
worse’n that. The men in camp an’ Mother 
McKnight call me Posey. That ain’t my name. 
Would yu like tu hear ’bout my real name? ” 

“Yes, indeed.” 

“ Well, my real name’s Patrita. I named myself 
that. It come ’bout like this. When I was borned, 
my mother she named me Bonita an’ my ole man 
he named me Patricia. He says they always fought 
over my name ’fore she died. She was determined 
to call me Bonita an’ he was hell-bent on callin’ me 
Patricia. Pa won out at the last of it. He got mad 
an’ wouldn’t call me either one. He called me 
Posey. Then when I learned about the fuss I 
settled the matter by callin’ myself Patrita. But 
it was too late. He’d called me Posey fer so long 
that ever’body always calls me that. I’d liked to 
had the nice name, but Pa says names don’t mean 
nothin’ —” 

“ And what would you like to have me call 
you? ” 

Posey wanted to tell him that she would like to 
have him call her Patrita, but she could not find 
the courage. Obviously his mind was more upon 
the pathetic little figure she made as she stood 
before him, for Alden did not discern her thoughts. 


6 


THE LOGGER 


Posey did not reply at once. “ Then I shall call 
you Posey, too. Will that be all right? ” 

For the first time Posey smiled. Alden had 
thought her an odd-looking child. Her dark eyes, 
extremely dark eyes, of an almost Latin-like 
intensity, were made more emphatically so by a 
mop of flaming red hair which shot out in a 
tangled profusion from her head like little tongues 
of fire. Her smile was captivating. A ripple of 
pleasure spread over her face as from the dropping 
of a leaf into the limpid surface of a still pool. The 
ripple mounted from her lips to her eyes, until 
waves of joy swept her with an almost vehement 
rapture. 

Forgetting that she had even desired to be called 
Patrita, she was overcome with pleasure that this 
admirable person should show her such intimacy. 
The anticipation seemed too great for realization. 
“ Will — will yu call me Posey? ” 

“ Of course, if it will please you.” 

“ An’ never a bold hussy? ” 

“ Most assuredly not.” 

“ Will it please me! Aw, sa-ay —” Too gratified 
to find words with which to express her apprecia¬ 
tion, Posey could not continue. She happened to 
look down and her eyes fell upon her hat, now 
covered with dirt and battered beyond recognition. 
Her manner immediately changed. Wheeling 
about she gave the hat a kick that sent it hurtling 
over into the brush. “ There! Bet nobody ain’t 
never goin’ tu see yu on my bean agin.” 


THE LOGGER 


7 


Alden could scarce refrain from laughing at this 
spontaneity. 

“ Here! Here! Where did you learn to play 
football? ” 

Posey looked up at him a trifle boastfully. 

“ Guess I have got a strong wallop back o’ that 
kick, ain’t I? ” 

He looked at her slim young figure. 

“For a person your size, I would say you do 
amazingly well.” 

Posey grinned boyishly. 

“ Got that playin’ shinney in school.” She 
became very serious. “ Had tu. Wasn’t goin’ tu 
let them Humptulips kids git ahead o’ me in 
ever’thing.” She paused and reflected a moment. 
“ Guess that’s all I did git, though. Them 
teachers couldn’t never learn me nothin’. Finally 
they expelled me ’cause I was so damn — so awful 
bad. They can’t make me go now. I’m past 
fourteen —” 

While she talked on, Alden studied her carefully. 

“ Here is another strange character,” he thought. 
“ A young girl away up here in the woods over 
twenty miles from civilization. A modern dryad.” 
He noted the coarsely woven and much mended 
dress, the heavy shoes worn and run over at the 
heels, the shock of tangled hair. “ Poor child. 
What will Tesa think when she sees her? She is 
horrified with what she has already found, and she 
has been here but a week. ’ ’ He turned his attention 
to Posey again. 


8 


THE LOGGER 


“But don’t you like school? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ Nope.” 

“Why?” 

Her brow puckered. 

“ Fer a lot o’ reasons. Mostly ’cause I don’t like 
settin’ in a house all day. If a person could study 
out here in the woods all by yerself -— I’d like that. 
But them kids at school is always pokin’ fun at yu. 
An’ the teacher lookin’ at yu like yu’d fell in the 
slough an’ was all over mud an’ was somethin’ 
she’d be scared tu touch. Maybe I ought o’ 
shouldn’t blame ’er. I ain’t got no decent clothes, 
but all the same that ain’t my fault an’ she’s paid 
fer teachin’ an’ not fer sizin’ the kids up that go 
to her school.” 

Posey stopped. She looked up frankly at Alden, 
but her eyes were mournful. Presently her mouth 
puckered earnestly. 

“ Guess I might as well begin at the beginnin’ 
an’ tell yu the truth ’bout me an’ my ole man. 
Yu won’t be here long ’fore yu’ll find it out any¬ 
way.” 

Alden nodded. 

“ Tell me anything you wish. If there is any 
way in which I can assist you, I shall be only too 
glad to do so.” 

Posey was astounded. It seemed incredible that 
such kindness could come from a stranger. But 
without comment, she continued: 

“ My ole man, Pa, he’s ’bout the worst ole soak 


THE LOGGER 


9 


up here — an’ that’s sayin’ a lot; bein’s they ain’t 
hardly a logger anywhere in these woods that 
don’t git lit to the eyebrows ever’ time they git a 
chancet. The difference ’tween Pa an’ most of ’em 
is that they jist go out tu town ’bout twicet a year 
an’ raise He— raise Cain fer three or four days 
’til they’ve blowed their wad. Most o’ the loggers 
are satisfied tu go on a tear jist twicet a year; 
Fourth-o-July an’ Christmas. But Pa — he plays 
it’s Fourth-o-July an’ Christmas all the time. Jist 
out o’ one bun into another. That’s my ole man.” 

Although there were tears on her lashes, Alden 
noted the girl’s effort at bravado while she told her 
story. 

Alden wondered at Posey’s confiding in him. 
He did not understand why she trusted him so upon 
short acquaintance. It both pleased and flattered 
him. 

Regardless of this girl’s uncouth appearance, he 
had already discovered something elemental deep 
in her soul; a hidden note of purity which occa¬ 
sionally flashed to the surface like a transient blaze 
of sunshine upon a mirror. Somehow, he already 
felt that she was going to take an active part in the 
new and strange life he had taken up in the West. 
He was eager to get on to camp where he had an 
appointment to meet Tim McAvoy, his foreman, 
but he debated with himself as to whether the 
affairs of the Alden Logging ^orks were more 
important than those of the girl before him. 

“ Nobody ’round here ain’t got no use fer my ole 


10 


THE LOGGER 


man,” Posey was saying. “An’ I’ll admit that he 
ain’t worth a damn — a lot — an’ when — an’ 
when he gits drunk he beats me—” Her voice 
broke nervously. A look of anguish came into her 
eyes, as if she still suffered physically from recent 
blows. 

Alden frowned darkly. Why, the girl was in 
trouble! He forgot the very existence of the Alden 
Logging Works, and suffered with Posey. Llis 
fists clenched unconsciously as if he desired to 
punch the head of a man who would get drunk and 
beat a helpless young girl. Posey saw this and 
resented it. His manner was so intense that she 
felt almost as if he had struck her father. She drew 
herself up stoutly. “ But — but he’s my father,” 
she added, as if warning him. 

Alden made no response to this. He could see 
that Posey did cherish an undying fragment of 
affection for this erring parent. It would be better 
to say nothing. 

Her defense for her father was merely temporary. 
Self-pity dominated her thoughts. 

“ He give me a lickin’ today. That’s what I was 
so mad ’bout v/hen yu found me jumpin’ on my 
hat. Looky here.” Without display of false 
modesty Posey jerked down the collar of her dress 
to show Alden the great red welts that stood out 
upon her milk-white and beautifully moulded 
shoulder. 

He was deeply touched. 

“ Oh, my dear girl! ” 


f 


THE LOGGER 11 

She drew her dress back over her shoulder. 

“ Humph, that ain’t nothin’. Ought tu see me 
sometimes.” Forgetting that she had spoken 
loyally of her parent but a moment before, she 
stiffened. “ Know why I was doin’ what I was 
when yu come up? ” Alden shook ’his head 
doubtfully. “I — I was a imaginin’ that that 
there hat was Pa’s face an’ I was jist a trompin’ his 
ole phiz with a pair o’ cork boots. He d’serves it — 
all righty. The ole 'son-of-a-gun! ” 

Alden wished to say that he agreed with her, but 
concluded it was best to keep silent. 

“ This momin’ him an’ me had one o’ the worst 
rows we’ve ever had. I tole ’im I was gittin’ sick 
o’ wearin’ other people’s ole clothes; somethin’ they 
didn’t want or that was wore out a’ready. That 
old hat I jist kicked over in the brush was one that 
Aunt Sally Mullen got from a woman who give ’er 
a lot o’ ole clothes an’ things when she moved out 
tu town. The woman was almost as old as Aunt 
Sally, an’ I bet that hat belonged tu ’er great grand¬ 
mother. Aunt Sally said I oughtn’t o’ should be so 
perticular. She said somethin’ ,’bout beggars can’t 
be choosers. Yu bet Mother McKnight don’t talk 
tu me like that — Pa said I had tu wear the hat, 
but I made up my mind I wasn’t goin’ tu; if I had 
tu fall in the river an’ drown myself so’s I’d lose it.” 

Posey was so desperately in earnest that Alden 
dared not laugh. And then he could see that the 
matter was too tragic to provoke laughter. 

“ I tole Pa this momin’ that I was gittin’ 


12 


THE LOGGER 


growed up an’ had a right tu nice things like other 
girls has got. Dresses that we’d bought ourselves 
with ribbons on ’em like the girls over there in 
Hump tulips git on Fourth-o-July an’ Christmas. 
He said I’d wear whatever he wanted me tu wear, 
an’ tu thunder with the girls in Humptulips an’ 
their dresses with ribbons on ’em. He said he was 
my father an’ I’d do as he said an’ I’d got tu fergit 
them hifalutin’ notions ’bout frills an’ such like. 
Posey stopped abruptly and kicked at a pebble at 
her feet. Presently she continued: 

“ So there I am, stuck in that ole shack up there 
in the woods with a drunkard fer a father. Half the 
time I wouldn’t git enough tu eat if it wasn’t that 
Mother McKnight divvies up with me fer deliverin’ 
the washin’ tu the loggers for her. She ain’t strong 
’nough tu walk all the way tu camp an’ carry a 
heavy bundle o’ clothes.” 

Alden was determined that he would investigate 
Posey’s case immediately. While he listened to 
her, if his manner seemed a trifle falsely con¬ 
descending, it was wholly unintentional. But 
Posey’s sensitive mind seemed to discern this. 
With a swift lifting of her shoulders she became 
scornful. She shot him a dark glance. 

“See here, Mister — Mister Alden, yu don’t 
need tu pay no ’tention tu me. I’m all right, I am. 
I’m Posey Murry! I can look out fer myself. I 
don’t know what kind of a fool I’m a bein’ any¬ 
how; goin’ on like this ’fore a total stranger. I 
ought o’ should be kicked —” 


THE LOGGER 


13 


“ I cannot see why. I think your motive was 
purely logical, and, if you wish it, I assure you that 
what you have said shall go no further.” 

Posey was moved by the tone of his voice, but 
she still could not be convinced. She eyed him 
suspiciously. 

“ ’Tain’t nobody’s business ’bout me an’ my 
ole man. I wouldn’t never said nothin’’t all if yu 
hadn’t caught me mad there while ago. An’ 
then—” her voice softened, “ an’ then somethin’ 
’bout yu — when yu come up there in the road — 
made me think o’ the kind o’ people Mother 
McKnight has tole me ’bout. Grand people in big 
cities that don’t git soused an’ beat up their kids 
an’ do wicked things —” She paused and shrugged 
her shoulders dismally. “ Oh, but what’s the use?” 
she began, then quickly became rigid as if strug¬ 
gling betweeen pride and self-pity. ‘ ‘ That kind o’ 
livin’ ain’t meant fer people like me an’ my ole 
man.” 

She looked out into the heavy forest that flanked 
the road on either side. Alden saw the convulsive 
catch of her throat and a slight tremor sweep her. 
When she turned to him again her eyes were cold, 
lifeless, like a fire suddenly extinguished by force. 

“ But all the same if anyone should ever tell yu 
that they was sorry fer me — yu — yu tell ’em I 
said fer them tu go to Hell.” 


CHAPTER II 


“ Say, Tim, what d’you think you’re tryin’ to do 
over here? ” 

Jean Andrews cafne up to Tim in the woods, his 
long legs swinging, a curious gleam in his eyes. 
Tim’s attention was on the donkey crew. He did 
not hear Jean until the other repeated his question. 
Tim turned. For a moment he made no reply. 
His dark blue Irish eyes flashed, and there was a 
hint of fight in the grim lines about his mouth. It 
was plain to be seen that the question had not 
pleased him. 

“ Log, of course.” 

“ Think you’re goin’ to make a logger out o’ that 
white-collared sport from Chicago? ” 

Tim tried to keep calm. 

“ Don’t you worry ’bout that white-collared 
sport. He’ll be wearin’ the tail of his shirt out an’ 
his overalls stagged to his knees before a month.” 

Instead of agreeing to this, as he should have 
done, Jean continued to antagonize Tim. 

“ Don’t make no difference if he never stags his 
overalls or wears the tail o’ his shirt out. That 
ain’t what goes to make a logger by a long shot. 
Why, that guy’s as green as grass. Who ever heard 
tell of a fella from an office in the East cornin’ out 
here an’ tryin’ to put across somethin’ that it takes 
14 


THE LOGGER 


15 


a lifetime to learn? Nope — he’ll never make it in 
the world.” 

Something about Jean’s self-confident air made 
Tim see red. It was not only what Jean said, but 
the rumors that he had been hearing from various 
sources which made him hostile. It seemed that 
every time he saw any of his fellow loggers, outside 
of their own crew, they had some cutting remark to 
make regarding Alden. Jeffery of the Jeffeiy 
Logging Company up on the east fork of the 
Humptulips, Billy Mann of Mann & Haley on 
the west fork, and every logger up and down the 
line from Humptulips to Hoquiam, had something 
to say about a matter which Tim considered was 
none of their business. He got it at Ed Seldon’s 
store in Humptulips and at the post office. He was 
determined now to settle the matter once and for 
all, even if he had to clean up on somebody. 

“ Well, by God, Alden’ll make it if they’s any¬ 
thing within my power to help him.” Tim paused 
an instant and looked sharply at Jean. “ I don’t 
mind admittin’ that I was recommended to him as 
bein’ the best foreman on Gray’s Harbor, an’ he’s 
•givin’ me a big price to help him get started. Best 
wages I ever got in any camp yet —” 

Jean was the one to be moved now. Tim having 
been recommended as the best logging camp fore¬ 
man on Gray’s Harbor was not the best and most 
pleasing information to listen to. His being fore¬ 
man for the Stockton Logging Company over at 
Axeford, six miles away, made Tim and him rivals 


16 


THE LOGGER 


in a sense of the word. But whatever resentment 
he might have felt while Tim boasted of his good 
reputation, Jean kept well concealed. He assumed 
utter indifference. 

“ Yeah — What did Alden do in Chicago before 
he come out here? It’s a cinch he wasn’t loggin’.” 

Tim smiled to himself. He noted that Jean was 
eager to change the subject. Sometimes you could 
hit a fella harder by what you said to him than by 
smashing him in the jaw, Tim concluded, although 
he ached for the physical satisfaction of the latter. 

“ No, he wasn’t loggin’. Worse’n that. He was 
in the stock and bond brokerage business with 
his father-in-law. His firm went haywire. Under¬ 
stand the old man lost ever’ cent he had in the 
world.” His mind reverted from personal griev¬ 
ances, Tim be'came animated. “ Kind of a funny 
thing happened. Here Alden was left without a 
bean an’ didn’t know what he was goin’ to do next, 
when, just a few days after the firm went under, 
didn’t he get word that his uncle in Seattle had died 
an’ left him this bunch o’ timber in his will.” 

Jean was deeply interested. 

“ Well, what d’you know ’bout that! ” 

“Yep.” Tim looked up into the thick growth of 
fir and spruce and cedar which surrounded them. 
His face lighted with a broad grin. “ Great thing 
for Alden that it was this particular tract, for there 
was never any better timber grew outdoors.” 

Jean took off his hat and scratched his head 
thoughtfully. 


THE LOGGER 


17 


“ Yet, him bein’ an Easterner, you’d think he’d 
a just sold the timber outright —” 

“ Lord, no. Alden’s crazy over these woods. 
Says he was up here once with his uncle when he 
was a boy, an’ he was so darn stuck on the country 
that he didn’t want to go back to college. An’ he 
says ever after that trip out West he never lost the 
desire to come back here.” 

“ Humph! ” Jean turned. “ Well, I got to be 
get tin’ back. I was on my way over to Hump- 
tulips to see if that bull-block come in last night. 
Been waitin’ for it for four days. We just ’bout had 
to shut down the works this afternoon — Thought 
I’d drop in an’ see you a minute on my way over.” 
He started away. “ So long, Tim.” 

Looking up, Tim spied Alden coming up the skid 
road. 

“ Hey, wait a minute, Jean. Here comes Alden 
now. I want you to meet him.” 

When Alden came up, Tim introduced him to 
Jean. 

“ So you’re from Chicago, hunh? I’d a thought 
you’d have brung out a bull team from the stock- 
yards instead of usin’ this donkey.” 

Alden laughed. 

“ Don’t you expect our crew to move faster than 
that, Mr. Andrews? If I understand correctly, the 
day of bull teams is over.” 

“ Yeah, they’re too slow. You got to keep 
humpin’ to keep up with the other fella these 
days.” Jean took out a plug of Star tobacco and 


18 


THE LOGGER 


bit off a quid. He offered Alden and Tim a chew, 
but both declined. “ Don’t chew, eh? Well, 
maybe you’ll have a drink.” He drew out a half¬ 
pint flask of whiskey from his hip pocket, but 
neither of them would accept it when he passed it 
to them. Jean looked at Tim amazed. 

“ Gosh all fishhooks, what happened to you, 
Tim? Well, I’ll have a drink alone.” Unashamed, 
he tipped the bottle to his lips and took a deep 
sup of the raw whiskey, then returned it to his 
pocket. “ I was in Chicago myself for four days 
last year, Alden. I sure did see some bull teams 
then. Ever’ fella I got acquainted with wanted to 
take me out to the stockyards. S’pose just ’cause 
I was a logger they thought I didn’t care ’bout 
seeing’ nothin’ else. You’d think to hear them 
talk, they wasn’t nothin’ else.” 

“ How did you like our windy city? ” 

“ Oh, it was all right, but I’d rather be out here 
on the harbor. Too damn hot and windy back 
there for a fella that’s uset to cool summers an’ 
lots o’ rain — Well, I was just goin’ when you come 
up. Glad I met you and — goodbye.” Jean strode 
off down the skid road. 

Tim turned to Alden. They exchanged glances, 
but nothing was said regarding Jean. 

“ How are you getting along, Tim? ” 

“ Fine. We’re goin’ to change lines. We’ll run 
the straw line through this forty and take in the 
haul-back tomorrow momin’ so not to make any 
unnecessary delay. Meantime we’ll have a few 


THE LOGGER 


19 


chokers made. You can have that eight-strand line 
sent up. This forty runs strong to clears, and we 
have to have clears on this emergency order. We 
can continue loggin’ on the other settin’ later.” 
Tim left Alden for a few moments to give a word 
of advice to one of the men. Presently he returned. 
“ I’ve got to go down to the landin’, Dave.” 

Alden liked being called Dave. They walked 
down to the landing together. Tim talked on while 
they swung across the shallow swale into the area 
where the fallers and buckers were already at work 
with springboards, falling saws and bucking saws, 
getting ready for the attack upon the great trees. 

“ While we’re loggin’ off this forty, the chokers 
can be made and the main line spliced,” said Tim, 
when they had stopped for a moment with the 
fallers and the buckers. “ That’ll give the buckers 
a chance to catch up on the old settin’, an’ get out 
of the way when we are ready to string our lines 
over on the other forty.” 

They reached the landing. Tim paused a 
moment and looked out into the water. 

“You know the loggin’ game is just like any 
other. Speed and action are the words. It’s a 
gamble, and I think I’m safe in sayin’ it’s the 
biggest gamble of any business, because if there 
was ever a proposition where you go forward one 
step and back two, this is it. Fire and water and 
ever’thing else the Lord wants to give you is 
eternally handed out to you at the wrong time.” 

Alden smiled. 


20 


THE LOGGER 


“ But if good fortune came too easy we would all 
be rich, and having achieved wealth without having 
made an effort to gain it, there would be no lure in 
the game.” 

“ Yep, guess that’s right. And loggin’s like any 
other game, — the lad that makes good is the 
fellow that can stick until he begins to gain speed a 
little an’ can beat the one step forward and the two 
back—” Tim stopped and a broad grin spread 
over his face. “ Pretty long speech for a logger, 
eh? Loggers are men of few words.” 

Before Alden left they discussed the crew, 
naming over certain men whom Tim knew to be 
expert workmen. 

“ Old Cap Murry was over here for a job this 
morning. I said I’d see about it. Told him to come 
over tomorrow morning. He’s one of the best hook 
tenders on the harbor. They ain’t a better hook 
tender nowhere than old Cap; if he’d only keep 
sober. But, by the Lord Harry, you can’t depend 
on him two days at a time. If he hasn’t got a job 
he’s down in the dumps and drunk because of his 
hard luck. If he has got a job he can’t stand the 
prosperity. So there you are.” 

At the mention of the name “ Murry,” Alden 
looked up quickly. 

“ I wonder if I didn’t meet his daughter on my 
way over here.” 

Tim eyed him keenly. 

“ Posey? ” 

Alden nodded. 


THE LOGGER 


21 


“ That was the name she gave me.” 

Tim smiled. 

“ Yep, that’s old Cap’s girl, all right. She’s a 
live one. Old Cap has an awful time with her.” 

“ I think they had been having one of their 
1 awful times ’ this morning, from the mood she 
was in when I came upon her in the road.” 

Tim threw back his head and laughed. 

“ Jumpin’ on her hat an’ cussin’ like a drunken 
logger, I bet.” 

“ It wasn’t quite that bad; but almost.” 

Tim became serious. 

“ Well, the poor kid. You can’t blame her for 
anything she does. Old Cap gets stewed and I’m 
told he whales the daylights out of her sometimes. 
Some of us have thought of interferin’, but she’s the 
kind that would not thank us. She’s just Irish 
enough to cuss the old man into purgatory herself, * 
but if anyone else says anything,— sa-ay — look 
out! An’ it’s just the same with old Cap. He’s as 
hard as nails with Posey, but, boys, oh, boys, if 
anyone was to touch a hair of that girl’s head 
they’d sure hear from him.” 

“ I could not help feeling sorry for her this 
morning. It was pathetic to see a young girl so 
distressed.” 

“Yep, you bet. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for her? 
The poor kid has had a devil of a life, too. Old Cap 
used to be a seafarin’ man. He got Posey’s 
mother out of a dance hall down in South America, 
Rio de Janeiro I think he said. He says she was the 


22 


THE LOGGER 


prettiest girl you ever laid eyes on. She was 
Spanish. But Posey’s Irish through an’ through. 
All but her eyes. So you see she’s got a double dose 
of temperament. She was bom in a boathouse 
down on the Willamette River near Portland. 
Her mother has been dead for a good many years, 
I guess.” 

Alden shook his head sadly. “ Too bad.” 

When he had left Tim and was on his way down 
to the cookhouse Alden could not get Posey out of 
his thoughts. 

“ The daughter of a drunkard and a dance-hall 
woman,” he reflected. “ Poor child. No wonder 
she is peculiar.” For a moment he paused and 
plunged into deep thought. ‘‘Yet, unless I imagine 
it, I believe I noted latent qualities in that girl 
which seemed almost extraordinary. Well, Tesa 
must not know the truth about her. It would be 
a dreadful blow to one who puts so much stress 
upon inheritance.” 

Reaching camp, which consisted of a long cook¬ 
house, a number of bunkhouses and numerous 
small shacks, Alden stopped to look at them. He 
was not pleased with the aspect the group of 
weather-stained and unpainted buildings made 
against the livid green background of the forest. 

To save the expense of erecting a new camp, he 
had purchased an old one recently deserted by a 
logging company who had logged off the timber 
they owned in that vicinity and moved on to 
another setting. 


THE LOGGER 


23 


The ground was littered with old bottles, rotting 
discarded garments, a small mountain of empty 
tins back of the cookhouse, thrown there by a 
careless cook. 

Alden went inside one of the bunkhouses. As he 
opened the door, he was met by the stench of damp 
garments dried about the fire and sour from per¬ 
spiration, blankets slept in months at a time with¬ 
out airing, the fumes of tobacco smoke, kerosene 
from the lamps and the lingering odor of whiskey 
cached away in someone’s bunk. 

The floor was strewn with crumpled papers, 
tobacco sacks, cigar butts, shoe strings, dirty socks, 
poker chips, broken pieces of playing cards and a 
thin layer of splinters knocked off of the floor by 
calk boots stamping carelessly over it. 

Alden looked about him in disgust. 

, “ Hujnph, they say the bull cook keeps up the 
bunkhouses. This floor looks as if he had not seen 
it for six months. I will look into this matter.” 

The bunks were built of rough lumber two tiers 
high against the walls. He noted the dirty grey 
blankets with their faded red borders, the lumpy 
quilts designed in grotesque patterns. There was 
something pathetic about these bunks. A few of 
them had been spread with an attempt at neatness, 
but most of them were just as they were left when 
the men crawled out of them that morning. 

Upon small shelves above the bunks was stored 
a disarray of miscellaneous articles; a few weeks’ 
or months’ supply of “ smokin’ ” and “ chewin’,” 


24 


THE LOGGER 


a dirty corncob pipe, a shaving outfit, perhaps a 
whetstone, an old copy of The Argosy or Popular 
Mechanics. 

On one shelf Alden found a greasy post card, the 
gay little picture dim from much handling by 
soiled hands. On another was the faded photograph 
of a little child. In large tobacco tins on some of 
the shelves there were, doubtless, keepsakes hidden 
from dust and prying eyes. Alden had no curiosity 
to look into these. He was ashamed that he had 
pried about as much as he had. But he had done 
so for a purpose. The germ of an idea had become 
pregnant in his mind. 

This germ received a rapid stride toward devel¬ 
opment when he stumbled and nearly upset a large 
can standing near the stove. This can contained all 
the cigar butts and burnt matches which had not 
been flung upon the floor. They floated in an ooze 
of ashes liquefied by a flood of tobacco juice from 
which there rose a strong, offensive odor. Alden 
was so nauseated that he immediately sought the 
fresh air. 

He found the cookhouse in scarcely better con¬ 
dition. 

Dan, the cook whom the loggers called Old 
Ramrod, was sitting out back of the lean-to 
kitchen. His chair tilted back against the side of 
the house, he was smoking casually among the 
filth of bits of bones, an overflowing slop barrel, 
the mound of empty tins among which an army of 
blowflies spun and hummed. 


THE LOGGER 


25 


“ No wonder these men go on a drunk twice a 
year and try to forget,” thought Alden as he swept 
the cook with a glance. 

“ Mr. McAvoy said you sent for me.” 

“ Yep.” Old Ramrod changed his pipe over to 
the other side of his mouth. 

“Was there something you wished? ” 

“ Had an order to give yu.” Old Ramrod did 
not move. His head turned to one side, one might 
think he was addressing the woodshed or the trees. 
“ Need a side o’ beef, a barrel o’ flour an’ a case o’ 
them half-gallon cans o’ mixed fruit.” For the 
first time he looked up at Alden. His faded eyes 
narrowed. “ I’d git mixed fruit if I was you. Last 
place I cooked they fed the men on apricots ’til 
they was so damn sick o’ them that they said 
they’d cram the next batch down my throat. 

“ Hard ’nuf tu please ’em with the best yu give 
’em, let alone tryin’ tu feed ’em up on the same 
thing all the time.” 

Alden was impatient to be off. 

“Was there anything else? ” 

The cook rose reluctantly. 

“Yep, got a list here in the kitchen.” Dis¬ 
appearing inside he returned presently with a slip 
of paper. He handed it to Alden. 

Alden started away, but Ramrod called him back. 
“ I was wonderin’ if yu was intendin’ havin’ 
families up here in camp later on —” 

“ Why, I don’t know. Of course, I suppose there 
will be men with families. I had not thought 


26 


THE LOGGER 


whether they would live here in camp or over in 
Humptulips. I should judge that the men who 
have children would want to be near the school.” 

Ramrod nodded dubiously. 

“ They’ll likely be plenty that’ll live here too.” 
He removed his pipe and spat upon the ground. 
“ I was goin’ tu give yu to understand right now 
that I ain’t goin’ tu run no grocery store here at 
this cook shack. Last place I worked they nigh 
deviled me to death with their confounded buyin’ 
a drivel o’ groceries at a time.” He frowned con¬ 
temptuously. “ Seventeen cents worth o’ T-bone 
steak, a can o’ peas, two-thirds of a pound o’ tea, 
an eighth of an ounce o’ bay leaves, three cents 
worth o’ suet. Good God! The damn women 
nearly drove me bughouse.” 

Alden was amused at the little man’s injured 
dignity. 

“ I will see that you are not troubled,” he 
assured him as he walked away. 


CHAPTER III 


“ Oh, Mother McKnight, I’m jist goin’ home. 
1 been over tu Humptulips an’ Eve found out all 
’bout them Aldens! ” 

Finding Mother McKnight in her yard as she 
passed her place, Posey could not refrain from 
going in to share a bit of neighborhood gossip. 
She rushed breathlessly through the gate and up 
the gravel walk. Suddenly she stopped. 

“ Why, what ’er yu doin’? ” 

The little old lady stood beside her clothesline 
holding an umbrella over one lone, but exceedingly 
large, pair of trousers which hung unceremoniously 
by the waistband. She pointed a finger up at the 
deep blue sky where spring rain clouds floated 
leisurely. 

“ You see that? ” 

Posey nodded. 

“ Well, I’ve taken Tim McAvoy’s pants in and 
out of the house twenty times today; trying to dry 
them between showers. I made up my mind that 
I wasn’t going to take them in again, but that I was 
going to dry them. So I brought my old umbrella 
out and decided to stay until they were dry enough 
to press. He wants them by tomorrow, night at the 
latest.” Mother McKnight paused and looked at 
Posey anxiously. “ But what was you going to tell 
me about the Alden family? ” 

27 


28 


THE LOGGER 


Posey drew a long breath. Her eyes were wide 
with excitement. 

“ Lis’sen. Aunt Sally Mullen was over there the 
other day. Mis Alden sent fer ’er. Sent ’er maid — 
she calls it — but it’s what we call a hired girl. 
Well, she sent ’er maid, or ’er hired girl, over tu 
see’f Aunt Sally ’ud come over an’ do their 
washin’. I saw Aunt Sally today an’ sa-ay, she 
says them there Aldens ’ensure ’nough high-muck- 
amucks. She says they put on as much splurge as 
though they lived in Seattle er New York er 
somewhere.” 

Mother McKnight’s kind old face wrinkled into 
an amused yet sympathetic smile. 

“ Did Aunt Sally say that? Go on, child, tell me 
more.” 

Posey made a tremendous gesture. 

“ Did she! I should say she did.” She paused 
to draw another long breath. “ She says they got 
the most awful grand furniture. Carpets on the 
floor in ever’ room. One o’ them talkin’ machines 
an’ — an’ a bathtub!” 

Mother McKnight’s eyes widened. 

" A bathtub. Well, well.” 

“Yep, a bathtub. Aunt Sally says all yu do is 
jist turn on the water in — in the tub — which she 
says is all whitish an’ nice ’nough fer any one tu eat 
out of — an’ there’s the bath. Yu c’n wash yerself 
jist as nice as though yu was down in the river. 
Better — ’cause this water is warmed ’forehand 
an’ there’s lots o’ nice smelly soap which Aunt 


THE LOGGER 


29 


Sally says is all done up in fancy wrappings with 
purty pictures on it. Aunt Sally says she saves 
’em. She can’t bare tu see purty things like that 
burned up. She’s goin’ tu paste ’em on a piece o’ 
cardboard an’ put ’em in ’er parlor.” 

Mother McKnight nodded patiently. She 
opened her lips to speak, but Posey, in her excite¬ 
ment, interrupted her. 

“ Aunt Sally says it ain’t nothin’ tu wash their 
clothes. Jist like washin’ clothes that ain’t never 
been dirtied ’tall.” Posey hesitated and became 
very grave. “ I ain’t jealous ’cause she’s got their 
washin’, Mother McKnight, but, when they ain’t 
hard clothes tu wash, wouldn’t it o’ been nice if 
you’d o’ got ’em? I could o’ brung ’em over fer yu 
an’ delivered ’em too. Why, it’d be a cinch—” 

Mother McKnight smiled. 

“ Oh, that’s all right. It doesn’t matter.” 

Posey shook her head. 

“ It ain’t all right. Aunt Sally’s got a husband, 
an’ you ain’t. It ’ud be a damn sight more nice ’n 
washin’ them there dirty, greasy ole clothes of the 
loggers.” 

“ But, Posey, somebody’s got to do the washing 
for the boys — and remember they pay me well.” 

“ Oh, sure.” 

Posey was silent for a moment, but presently she 
burst out: 

“ But, sa-ay, I didn’t tell yu ever’thing. I seen 
Mis Alden today. She c’m in tu git ’er mail when 
I was in the post office.” 


30 


THE LOGGER 


“ Yes! n Mother McKnight was truly interested 
now. She shared the curiosity of every other 
woman in Humptulips and the neighborhood 
regarding these people whose sudden coming into 
their midst had created a sensation. No “ boss ” 
had ever built a home for his family as Alden had 
done. There had been a few who had brought their 
families up into the woods and established them in 
temporary quarters, but almost always they kept 
them in Hoquiam or Aberdeen. 

When Alden built a home and equipped it with 
running water, a bath — as Aunt Sally Mullen had 
already reported far and wide in the neighborhood 
— and all the modem conveniences of a first-class 
home in the city, the people of Humptulips were 
astounded. 

The fact that he had managed the running water 
by means of nearly a mile of inch pipe operated by a 
ram, when for years few of them had even had a 
well on their property, was almost unbelievable. 
They felt that they had advanced amazingly 
when they no longer got their water from the 
“crick”; a stream of sparkling water coming down 
out of the foothills of the Olympic Mountains. 

“ So you have seen Mrs. Alden already,” said 
Mother McKnight. 

Posey nodded. Her brow wrinkled thoughtfully. 

“Yes, I seen ’er. I don’t know whether I’m 
goin’ tu like ’er er not, though. She’s awful sort o’ 
stuck up. Not a bit like him. Ever’body says Mr. 
Alden’s su nice. Speaks tu anyone he meets.” 


THE LOGGER 


31 


“ That’s what the boys over at camp was telling 
me.” 

“ Unh hunh. Well, she never spoke tu a single 
one o’ us there in the post office. Jist marched in 
like she thought she owned the town. This is the 
way she did it —” Thrusting her nose in the air, 
Posey gathered her skirts tightly about her and 
strode across the yard and back again to demon¬ 
strate her impression of Tesa Alden. 

“ Oh, well, that may be just her way.” Mother 
McKnight looked thoughtfully out into the woods. 
“ She’s a stranger yet. She might have been 
embarrassed in there among folks she didn’t know.” 

Posey made a grimace. 

“ Humph, not on yer life. Not her, I bet.” She 
shrugged her shoulders. “ But, anyway, I don’t 
give a damn.” 

Mother McKnight turned and looked at Posey 
sharply. 

“ I thought you promised you would quit 
swearing.” 

Posey’s eyes fell. 

“ I am — tryin’ tu quit.” 

“ This doesn’t sound like it. You have said bad 
words twice since you came in here —” 

Posey was dismayed. 

“ Well, what’s a person goin’ tu do? When yer 
tellin’ somethin’ an’ — an’—” Confused she 
paused to search for an appropriate word in which 
she might make her meaning clear and forceful. 
The search was in vain. “ Anyhow, it’s jist like 


32 


THE LOGGER 


Tim McAvoy says: ‘ Hell an’ damn ain’t swearin’; 
it’s ‘ strong emphasis.’ ” 

Posey had tried to be humorous, but Mother 
McKnight did not laugh. 

“ It isn’t ladylike, is it? 

“No, but —” 

Posey was deeply humiliated now. She could 
scarce endure the kind but earnest look of the 
older woman’s eyes. No one in Humptulips could 
reach deep down beneath the callous of her young 
heart as Mother McKnight could. 

“I’ve so often asked you to stop, and reminded 
you that you are not a little girl any longer —’’ 

This was too much. Almost moved to tears of 
shame, she was convinced that she must change 
the subject or she would soon be weeping. Flinging 
back her head she took a step toward Mother 
McKnight. 

“ Mother McKnight, is my ears clean? ” 

Mother McKnight scrutinized her carefully. 
Not satisfied, she put down her umbrella and 
moved nearer. Brushing the mop of flaming hair 
back from Posey’s face, she looked closely. 

“ No, they’re not.’’ 

Flushing hotly, Posey drew back. 

“ Well, I’m goin’ right home an’ wash ’em.” 

Mother McKnight looked at her interrogatively. 

“ Mis Alden’s ears was awful clean this mornin’ 
an’ ’er hair didn’t look all daubed up an’ greasy, 
like su many of the women ’round here. An’ ’er 
.skin is jist su white! Even if she is stuck up, she’s 


THE LOGGER 


33 


most awful good lookin’. She looked so kinda all 
clean an’ starchy this momin’, like one o’ the 
logger’s boiled shirts after you’ve did it up —” 

Mother McKnight did not hear much of this. 
Her thoughts were detached She was looking up 
at the sky. It had cleared, and it appeared as if the 
shower was over for a time. She examined the pair 
of trousers. Satisfied that they were dry enough 
to press, she took them off the line and, folding the 
umbrella, moved toward the house. She invited 
Posey to come in, stating that she had not eaten 
yet. 

Posey hesitated. 

“ I better be goin’ on.” 

“ No, come on in. Anyway, I’ve got a bundle of 
clothes to send over to camp. You can take them 
now and it will save you another trip.” 

“ How ’bout Tim’s pants? ” 

“ He’s coming after them tonight himself.” 
Mother McKnight was on her tiny back porch 
now. “ Come on in and have some dinner with me, 
Posey. I’m having sour potatoes.” 

Posey looked up wistfully. Her mouth watered. 

“Sour potatoes! Oh, sa-ay —” She hurried 
across the grass and was beside Mother McKnight. 
“Why is it, Mother McKnight, they ain’t no 
woman in Humptulips that can make sour potatoes 
as good as you c’n? ” she asked as she followed 
Mother McKnight into the kitchen. 

Mother McKnight’s eyes beamed. She liked 
people to boast of her cooking. 


34 


THE LOGGER 


“ I don’t know, unless it’s just because they 
haven’t got the knack. And then I was the first 
woman in Humptulips that ever made them. The 
other women learned it from me.” Mother 
McKnight poked the fire and put in a stick of 
wood. “Now you wash your hands, Posey, and 
set the table while I fry the ham. There’s a wild 
blackberry pie there in the pantry. I opened the 
last can this morning. I wonder if we’re going to 
have as many wild blackberries this year as we did 
last? Remember, woods was just full of them —” 

Mother McKnight had lived alone on her place 
since her husband was killed in camp ten years 
before. They had filed on the eighty acres of 
timber when they first came to Washington and 
had received quite a sum of money when they sold 
the timber. But sickness and death had consumed 
most of the proceeds. By raising most of the food 
she ate and washing for the loggers, Mother 
McKnight managed to keep herself comfortably. 

She often wondered why she did not return to 
her people in Iowa, where her three children were 
buried; but, a great lover of the forest, she could 
not make up her mind to give it up. 

Poverty and losses had not embittered Mother 
McKnight’s heart. She was loved and respected 
far and wide in the community. There was a cer¬ 
tain sense of superiority about her and yet she was 
a beloved friend to all. 

“ If you want a favor done, just go to Mother 
McKnight,” said the neighbors. 


THE LOGGER 


35 


“ Gee, she’s always got the goodest things to eat 
in her pantry,” said the children, “ an’ so many 
purty things in the parlor to show you when you 
go there.” 

“ She’s got a heart like an ox,” said the loggers. 

There was no one in whom Mother McKnight 
took the interest that she did in Posey Murry. 
She had often befriended Posey when old Cap 
Murry was drunk for days at a time. A number of 
times she had asked him to let Posey come to live 
with her, but he had shaken his head stubbornly. 

“ Not on yer life. I’ve raised that brat since her 
mother died. She’s jist now gittin’ to an age where 
she c’n look out fer me. Nope, she stays with me 
as long’s I live — After that she c’n go with who 
she pleases.” 

Mother McKnight never became discouraged 
because she was not more of an influence in Posey’s 
life. She knew the child’s home life was the cause 
of her irresponsibility, and she longed for the day 
when Posey would be old enough to get away from 
it. She was a trifle surprised, however, that Tesa 
Alden should be the first person to make the girl 
realize how essential it was to keep up one’s 
personal appearance. She decided to say nothing 
to Posey of this. She believed that the matter 
would be more impressive if she said nothing. 

“ I’ve got a few more socks to darn and a patch 
to put on Happy Lenon’s undershirt before you 
can take the clothes,” she said when they had 
finished their meal and were in the parlor. “ I’ll 


36 


THE LOGGER 


declare there isn’t a boy in the woods who is as 
hard on his clothes as Happy. He needs a wife to 
look after him. Goodness knows he’d be a fine 
catch for some woman.” 

Posey scarcely heeded what Mother McKnight 
was saying. Her eyes were roaming about the 
room among the numerous “pretty things” in 
Mother McKnight’s parlor. Crocheted tidies on 
the chairs, an old sampler on the w r all, a what-not 
in one corner loaded with little keepsakes that 
Mother McKnight had been gathering for years. 
Posey never tired of looking at this collection. 
There seemed to be a story in every article. 

Mother McKnight did not mind Posey’s not 
listening to what she was saying. She was not 
altogether directing what she said to anyone in 
particular; she was merely voicing her thoughts 
aloud. She, at least, had someone to whom to direct 
her discourse and she detested talking to herself. 
To her it showed symptoms of feeble-mindedness. 

“ You know they are saying that that Mr. Alden 
has the intention of getting to be one of the biggest 
loggers in the country. He told someone about 
having a vision of a wonderful future up here. 
’Course, most of the people are laughing about it. 
Billy Mann told Ed Seldon over in the store the 
other day that Alden would have to learn that it 
took something a sight more reliable than visions 
to make a fortune in logging.” Mother McKnight 
paused and stitched quietly for a time. Presently 
she looked up. 


THE LOGGER 


37 


“ I don’t believe the people up here at Hump- 
tulips understand Mr. Alden. Even though I’ve 
never met him, I believe I do. He’s an idealist. 
Common folks don’t understand people like that. 
An idealist, providing he’s got the get up and go 
about him, is the kind who does things. If you 
don’t dream big things, how are you ever going to 
get them? ” 

Mother McKnight studied Posey earnestly to 
see if what she said was making any impression 
upon the girl. But Posey’s thoughts seemed to be 
far away. Mother McKnight thought she did not 
hear her. However, she did not despair. 

“ The only thing is: I wish he was something 
besides a logger.” Pausing again she frowned 
thoughtfully as she bent over her mending; making 
her stitches as small and precise as if she were 
working upon cloth-of-gold. When she looked up 
again there was that far-away expression in her 
eyes which Posey had so often seen when Mother 
McKnight got to delving in idle fancy. “ All my 
life I’ve been real fond of poetry-— I read it every 
time I get a chance. I’ll never forget a poem I read 
one time. I can’t remember now just how it went, 
but it was about a great forest and it called this 
forest the kingdom of man. It went on to tell 
about how it was man’s duty to protect and care 
for this beautiful forest and all the plant and animal 
life in it, rather than destroy it because it was 
hi§ kingdom —” Mother McKnight gazed out the 
window into the forest across the road from her 


38 


THE LOGGER 


home. “ I wish I could remember that poem—” 

“ Maybe, yu can sometime.” 

Mother McKnight turned quickly. Her heart 
leapt. Posey was listening! And she was so hungry 
for expression that day. One of those dreamy 
moods had come over her. At such times she 
longed for companionship. Encouraged by Posey’s 
attention, she waxed eloquent. 

“ Well, the first time I ever saw this beautiful 
forest up here, I said to myself : ‘ This is the king¬ 
dom of man.’ And ever since then, there hasn’t 
been a tree fell but what I’ve had a kind of an ache 
in my heart about it. Hearing that peculiar groan 
of the tree when it was falling kinda made me feel 
like it was trying to tell man that he really was 
destroying his own beautiful kingdom. Of course, 
people have to make a living, and all the wealth of 
this great Western country must be turned into 
money, but somehow the forest does seem different. 
Trees seem to belong to and be a part of the divine 
plan, like the sky and the mountains and the birds 
and the flowers. But, of course, I’m just an old 
woman and have my funny notions. I guess what 
I think doesn’t amount to much anyway.” 

Mother McKnight returned to her mending 
again. They were each silent. Now Posey’s 
attention was bent upon the forest. She gazed 
upon it, through the window, as if she had never 
looked upon it before. 

Something unusual was going on in Posey’s 
mind. She could not quite comprehend the mean- 


THE LOGGER 


39 


ing of it. It was akin to the sensation she had the 
day she first met David Alden, and yet a trifle 
similar to the feeling she had the morning Tesa 
Alden, crisp and immaculate in fresh linen, walked 
into the Humptulips post office. Yet, this new 
emotion which seemed to be stealing in upon her 
was vastly more significant than either of the 
others. 

Mother McKnight finished her mending and 
wrapped the clothes in a bundle for Posey to 
deliver at camp on her way home. 

Up the road, where she plunged into the thicker 
forest, Posey stopped suddenly. She looked up 
into the deep-green canopy of branches which 
swung between earth and sky. A strange exalted 
sensation swept her. Tears sprang to her eyes. 
She could not define her thoughts, nor could she 
collect them. They seemed to flutter here and there, 
like the sunlight on the blowing branches. She 
tried to concentrate on something, but in vain. It 
was not unhappiness. She was certain of that. 
But she was conscious of a mysterious change 
going on in her mind, a change for which she was 
not responsible, but one that was involuntary, like 
a machine that, once started, runs by its own 
power. 

It was as if a part of her, which all her life had 
been dormant, had suddenly been set in motion. 
Her lips were moving. She found herself mur¬ 
muring: “This is the kingdom of man. King¬ 
dom of man.” 


CHAPTER IV 


David Alden slowly mounted the back steps of 
his home. On the porch he paused a moment to 
drive the calks of his boots into a pair of boards 
laid precisely there for that purpose. With the 
boards riveted to his calk boots he clumped into 
the kitchen. Dropping into a chair, placed con¬ 
veniently near the door, he removed first his boots, 
then his double-breasted blue flannel shirt. 

Alden had become a real lumberjack. He had 
“ stagged his pants an’ wore the tail o’ his shirt 
out.” This particular fashion was amusing to 
him. It was possible, however, that wearing the 
shirt with the bottom of the front folded under¬ 
neath and drawn to the back, where the whole was 
tucked into the waistband of the overalls, made it 
possible for the woodsman to move more freely. 
Alden was still perplexed over the matter, but he 
was willing to accept it with the grace of a true 
logger. 

Emma, the maid, came in from the dining-room. 

“ Is my bath ready, Emma? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Good. I’m so dead tired tonight that I believe 
I would snap the head off of an angel if she crossed 
me.” 

He rose and shambled across the room. Every 
40 


THE LOGGER 


41 


muscle in his body felt as if it had been stretched to 
the breaking point. However, twenty minutes 
later he came downstairs very much animated. 
The bath had rested him. He felt so vivacious that 
he called a merry: “Hello, there, Tesie!” to his 
wife who was just entering the hall. 

Tesa was a pleasing sight. She wore a formal 
dinner gown and her hair was dressed as elaborately 
as though she were giving a dinner and expected 
distinguished guests. Alden swept her with a 
glance, from her gorgeously slippered feet to the 
mass of dark, glistening hair piled high upon her 
head. He stopped to kiss the cheek she offered 
somewhat reluctantly. 

“ One consolation with our present environ¬ 
ments, Tesie, is that one need not worry that her 
gowns will go out of style.” He looked upon this 
recent creation from Worth’s with a tolerant smile. 
“ At the end of ten years up here in the woods this 
gown would ring quite as new as it does tonight, 
while back in Chicago the style of milady’s gown 
changes with the seasons—” He hesitated and 
looked down upon his smoking jacket and com¬ 
fortable house slippers. “ But why all this for¬ 
mality? You do look stunning—yet is the reward 
worth the effort? ” 

Tesa drew away from him coldly and moved 
toward the stairs. 

“ There’s a purpose.” 

This puzzled him. 

“ A purpose — ” 


42 


THE LOGGER 


She tossed her glistening head impatiently. 

“ oh, I’ll tell you when I come down. Emma has 
just given Dunny his bottle. I want to see that he 
hasn’t thrown it out of his crib.” Tesa hastened 
upstairs. 

Some moments later they were at dinner. 

Everything about the table with its silver and 
fine linen was as carefully appointed as it. had 
always been during their few years of marriage. 
It did lack the centerpiece of cut flowers. Other¬ 
wise neither of them need be conscious but that 
they were dining in the magnificent home that they 
had been forced to abandon in Chicago. 

“ You said you would tell me your purpose in 
putting on that gown tonight, Tesie.” 

Tesa’s brows lifted slightly. 

“ Well, since you have taken it upon yourself to 
become a full-fledged logger, I feel that some one 
must save the family pride from going to perdi¬ 
tion.” 

Alden smiled. 

“ Then the action was symbolic. Believing that 
I am threatening and endangering it, you have 
taken it upon yourself to sustain the family 
pride —’ ’ 

“ Exactly.” 

“ In the meantime, unless I lay the family pride 
before the altar of misconception — we will call it 
— who, pray, is to keep the wolf from the door? ” 

Tesa gave a nervous little gesture. 

“ Is it so serious as all that? ” 


THE LOGGER 


43 


Alden did not answer at once; principally because 
his mouth was full of food. One thing he had not 
brought from Chicago and had gained in Hump- 
tulips, was a ravenous appetite. Even his desire 
to respect Tesa’s every whim that evening could 
not restrain that almost insatiable gnawing in the 
region of his digestive organs. He chewed his roast 
beef with the ardor of a starved animal. Tesa 
watched impatiently while he swallowed hard and 
then took a long sup of water. 

“ What a horrid appetite you are developing. 
One might suspect that you were tasting roast beef 
and escalloped potatoes for the first time in years.’ ’ 

Alden drained his glass. He gave her a signifi¬ 
cant look. 

“ I have never tasted it before. Until he has 
labored twelve long hours among flying axes and 
wedges and the cable line of a logging camp, one 
does not know the true purpose of food.” 

Tesa ignored this. 

“You didn’t answer my question a moment 
ago.” 

“ True enough, I didn’t, did I? You said: ‘ Is it 
so serious as all that? ’ ” He paused and looked 
across the table at her for one long, thoughtful 
moment. “ Why spoil our dinner talking of it, 
Tesa? Moreover, I believe it is unnecessary to 
state the seriousness of our financial situation ” 

Tesa sat back and eyed him critically. 

“ But wearing the clothes of a common logger! ” 

“ I must for a time until we get set up and going. 


44 


THE LOGGER 


And, please, do not refer to these men in the woods 
as common loggers. You are now living in an 
atmosphere of common loggers and common 
people. It would behoove you to develop more 
democratic tendencies.’ ’ 

Tesa’s chin lifted. A suggestion of anger flashed 
in her eyes. 

“ Never! To be forced to live in this jungle, is 
one thing. To be forced to meet jungle people on 
their own level, is entirely another —” 

Alden was silent for a moment, then: 

“I — I am disappointed, Tesa.” 

“ In — 1 ” 

“ You.” 

“Oh —” 

“ I had hoped that you would see matters in a 
different light. I had hoped that you would accept 
these good people of Humptulips for their own true 
worth. At heart I will warrant that most of them 
have more pure gold than many of our influential 
friends of former days. At any rate we are obliged to 
live among them for some time. At least I am —” 

Tesa’s upper lip curled. 

“ That sounds like a challenge.” 

A shadow of pain crossed Alden’s face. 

“ Am I in a habit of challenging you? ” 

She smiled graciously. 

“ Go on with your moralizing, my dear. Or 
might I call it demoralizing? ” She was amused at 
the hurt look in his eyes. “You were saying that 
we are obliged to live among these people for some 


THE LOGGER 


45 


time. Jungle people, I call them, much to your 
chagrin. Supposing we are — then what? ” 

“Well, I had hoped that you would make the 
most of it.” 

“Oh, how very amusing. As if I had not been 
making the most of everything for the past year.” 

Alden said nothing in return to this. He merely 
studied her and tried to analyze her as any devoted 
husband would strive to analyze a much loved 
wife. He suspected, and had suspected for months, 
that Tesa was not at all in sympathy with his 
present venture. But he would not permit himself 
to believe that she was trying to put every obstruc¬ 
tion in his path to make it impossible for him to 
pass. It had happened in similar circumstances 
among friends of their acquaintance, but he did not 
want to believe that of his wife. 

Tesa was not demonstrative, but he had not the 
slightest doubt that, beneath this unresponsiveness, 
she loved him with a wife’s true devotion, and that 
eventually, during this crisis which had come into 
their lives, she would take her stand like the true 
blue-blood that she was. Her coming west with 
him had proved her stability to a large degree. All 
doubt fled from him as he looked across at her 
where she sat eyeing him bitterly. He was too 
occupied admiring her dark beauty to see this 
bitterness. 

“ If you had only stayed by Father — Father 
will rise again in no time. You cannot keep a man 
of his calibre down.” 


46 


THE LOGGER 


This antagonized Alden. He wanted to shout 
that the very reason he rejoiced in their misfortune 
was because it had been the means of freeing him¬ 
self from the dominating influence of such a 
person. But feeling that this would be unjust, he 
folded his napkin with exceptional patience while 
he struggled for self-control. 

“ Now listen, dear, why all this haggling? Let 
us get to our point. It was my choice to come out 
west. I am only now beginning on the dream of 
my boyhood., I never lost the desire to return here 
since the trip I took up into these woods with 
Uncle Will that summer. Yet I suppose my 
desires might date back to my ancestors, who had 
the spirit of the pathfinder so deeply imbedded in 
their bosoms that nothing could daunt them in 
their pursuit of new worlds to conquer. But the 
first time I was conscious of it was that summer I 
was out here before I finished college. Since then 
I have never lost the wonderful vision Uncle Will 
and I saw here together. And, after all these years, 
I am only now beginning to realize my dream —” 

Tesa shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Oh, you have always been having dreams. 
But why involve your family who much prefer to 
be wide awake? ” 

Alden rose and went around the table to her side. 
He bent over and put an arm about her. 

“ Don’t let’s have words about this matter, 
Tesie. Let us forget the unpleasantness and think 
only of the highlights —” 


o 



THE LOGGER 


47 


She drew away from him slightly. 

“ If for no other reason, I think you would 
resent raising your son in such an environment.” 

Tesa knew when she used their child as ,a weapon 
in her argument, she touched a vital point. 
Alden’s one passion was his little son. However, 
he did not acquiesce as easily as she had expected. 

“ Oh, Dunny is just a wee fellow yet. By the 
time he is old enough for school, his father will be 
rolling in wealth.” He stepped back and, thrusting 
his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, waved his 
hands significantly. Tesa looked up at his whimsi¬ 
cal face. 

“ Oh, you idealists! The visions you have! Will 
you never come down to earth ? I congratulate you 
upon having the enthusiasm of a four-year-old.” 

This hurt Alden. Tesa had a way of treating his 
ideas with the same amused tolerance that she 
might feel toward a small child. For some strange 
reason he thought of Posey Murry. 

“ If Tesa would only regard me with but a small 
degree of the admiration which this child seems to 
feel,” he thought; and he recalled how the hero 
worship, which Posey made no attempt to conceal, 
appealed to his masculine vanity. “ Every time I 
see her, her approval of me is so obvious that I find 
myself wanting to be everything she seems to 
believe of me.” r ... 

Tesa rose and went into the living room. She sat 
down on a divan before the fireplace and gazed 
moodily into the cheerful glow. Alden went to sit 


48 


THE LOGGER 


beside her. He took one of her long slender hands 
in his. Tesa suffered herself to be caressed. She 
did not draw away when he took her in his arms 
and laid her head on his shoulder. 

“ I know it is hard, dear.” He patted her cheek 
gently. “ And in your condition you feel it more. 
I only wish you might see matters as I do.” He 
paused and looked thoughtfully for a moment at 
the playful flames. “ Why, to me, we are only now 
beginning to live —* The new things I am learning 
each day! You cannot imagine how interesting it 
is to watch and work with those fellows over there 
in the woods. Logging is an art, just as much as 
any other industry. And industry is art. I have 
always argued that point. It is far more vital than 
the so-called art. We cannot eat music or books or 
paintings or statues and, no matter how aesthetic 
we become, still we must eat. 

“ And while pleasure seekers are following their 
own joyful pursuits, such fellows as those over there 
in the woods, and millions of other workers, are 
grinding deep down in the depths of industrialism 
so that we may have clothes to wear, food to eat, 
houses to live in. Did you ever think of that, 
Tesie? ” 

Tesa did not reply. She leaned calmly upon his 
shoulder but, somehow he believed that she was 
listening. 

“ Back in Chicago,” he went on, “ when I 
happened to be among the poorer districts of the 
city, I often thought of that. I felt I wanted to do 



THE LOGGER 


49 


something for these people; for all the unfortunate 
people on earth. But how could I in my position? 
I was chained to the upper classes. Then when this 
timber was left to me just at the time the avalanche 
occurred in your father’s affairs and we were dis¬ 
lodged from the upper classes — am I selfish when 
I say I rejoiced in our misfortune? Here was the 
opportunity for which I had longed! ” 

Tesa winced at this, but she remained quiet. 

“ What impressed me more than anything else 
regarding the working classes was their lack of 
system and sanitation. This time I came west I 
realized what slow strides our country is making 
toward progress. The majority of the loggers are 
still living in filthy bunkhouses and carrying their 
own vermin-infested blankets to and from the 
camps. One of the greatest phases in my dream 
toward the new era of industrialism is fighting for 
sanitation. We know it is a psychological fact that 
cleanliness is one of the most essential elements in 
the uplifting of humanity, and I am going to do all 
I can to lift labor conditions to a better standard. 

“ I have had an immense theoretical education. 
Now I am going to acquire a practical one. I 
believe that industry can be made beautiful, the 
same as art and science. Men laugh at poets. Yet 
it was the poet who caught the vision of lessons in 
stones, music in running brooks, a singing voice in 
the whir of machinery. In this great forest where 
men work like galley-slaves all day, why not 
create a spirit of pleasure out of it? ” 


50 


THE LOGGER 


Alden stroked the smooth cheek which lay 
against his shoulder. 

“ I know this is not especially interesting to you, 
dearie. I do not expect you to be in sympathy 
with me. All I ask is that you be tolerant until I 
have proven myself. Most people look upon the 
dreamer as one who is unbalanced, yet, were it not 
for the dreamers, where should we be? Every 
great man has been a dreamer. Franklin, Lincoln, 
Edison and hundreds of others. To achieve, one 
must first see the thing in mind before he can carry 
it out. One must also be a doer, of course. Innu¬ 
merable people dream and visualize. Far too few 
carry out these visions. 

“ The afternoon I was waiting for you to arrive 
in Aberdeen I had some time to kill. Not knowing 
what else to do I climbed Think o’ Me Hill; that 
hill rising back of the town. Remember I pointed 
it out to you next morning from our room at the 
Washington Hotel? I told you the sign board 
was put there by the Think o’ Me Cigar Company. 
It can be seen for miles. There is something 
significant in that sign. It does set one to thinking. 

“ On the hilltop that afternoon I looked out 
upon Gray’s Harbor, with its hundreds of small 
craft and larger boats anchored at the wharves. 
From that far distance, the men hurrying to and 
fro looked like busy insects, loading the ships with 
their inexhaustible cargo of lumber. Down the 
Harbor other ships were making to sea, already 
loaded with lumber, and on their way to ports 


THE LOGGER 


51 


all over the world. Below me and out across the 
river in Cosmopolis and to the north — all along 
the water front of the Wishkaw River and the 
shore of the Harbor as far as I could see, were 
sawmills; ripping, tearing and devouring the 
great logs like hungry animals. But unlike hungry 
animals, they were belching up these logs, digested 
now into countless strips of long smooth boards 
to be piled in the yards until their time came to 
be loaded upon the ships. 

“ I looked back of Aberdeen and Hoquiam, 
miles and miles of timber where the hand of man 
has scourged but a small fraction of the vast 
forest which spans the greater part of the Olympic 
Peninsula. In the distance I could hear, above the 
other noises, the shrill whistle of a donkey 
engine—” Alden stopped a moment. 

“ Tesie, dear, if you but knew how I thrilled 
at the sight and sound of that broad field below 
me. My heart swelled and I closed my eyes and 
said: ‘ Oh, Lord, at last I am no longer to be the 
puppet of the success of others. Nowl Now I, 
too, am to become a bit of this vast wheel of 
industrialism ’ — ” Alden paused again and for 
a moment was lost in thought. “ So don t you 
see, Tesie, there on the hilltop that afternoon 
I saw the beginning of the realization of my 
dream? From that moment I was given the power 
of the doer. Now that I have explained my dream 
to you — can’t you enter into the spirit of it — 
just a little—” He looked down at Tesa. Her 


52 


THE LOGGER 


head had fallen over on his breast. He lifted her 
face to look into her eyes for his answer. He was 
so eager for a word of encouragement from her! 
Again he was to face disappointment. 

His wife slept. 


CHAPTER V 


“ They’s no gettin’ ’round it, Tim. I’d make 
Ole Ramrod either hit the ball or hit the puncheon, 




one or the other.” 

Coming into the bunkhouse to tell the engineer 
to fire up fifteen minutes earlier the following 
morning, as there was some special work to be 
done before they could begin on their regular 
yarding, Tim was met with this protest. For 
several weeks the men had been complaining 
about the “grub.” 

“ Lord God, yes,” agreed a man who sat sullenly 
on the edge of his bunk in his sock feet. “ He’s 
gittin’ worse ever’ day. His coffee’s the damnedest 
slop y’ever tasted, an’ them biscuits he give us 
tonight was so hard yu c’d throw ’em through 
the wall —” 

“ Yes, ’n I bet he never wrenches his dishes,” 
some one broke in. “ He’ll have us all like we 
was one winter down there at Hansen’s in South 
Bend. The cook was so doggone dirty he never 
wrenched his dishes, an’ when we all got the 
bellyache we couldn’t figure what was the matter 
’til one o’ the fellas got so plagued sick he had tu 
go to a doctor. The Doc as’t ’im what he’d been 
eatin’. Said, 'Nothin’ ’ceptin’ the regular grub 
at camp.’ 


53 


54 


THE LOGGER 


“ The ole Doc fixed ’im up all right an’ he went 
back tu camp. That night he got tu thinkin 
over what the Doc had said. Next momin he 
told the other fellas. They got tu investigatin’ 
an’, by gosh, they found out that the cook never 
wrenched his dishes. Guess they’d all swallowed 
’nough soap tu start a factory. Good God, some 
of us was sick! Guess ’f we hadn’t found out in 
time that there ole buzzard ’ud a killed us fore 
we’d knowed it. Wouldn’t put Ole Ramrod past 
doin’ the same thing—” 

“ Unless he’s so damn dirty he don’t use soap,” 
said another. 

Tim listened patiently. 

“ Well, we’ll see about it tomorrow. Maybe 
Dan’ll do better if I give him a talkin’ to. I hate 
to fire him right off. Besides, I ain’t got time to 
go to town for another cook this week. I wouldn t 
say anything to Alden if I was you fellows. It 
would only worry him. I know he wants you to 
have good grub; cooked right an plenty of it. 

“ Hell, yes,” said several in a chorus. “ We 
ain’t got no notion o’ tellin’ Alden nothin’. He 
sure puts up a plenty. That’s what makes us 
sore. We know ’f Ole Ramrod ’ud cook right we 
couldn’t never eat in a better cookhouse. 

“ Wonder, though, if Alden knows what a 
logger’s belly means to him, said a big burly 
giant who stood six foot two in his stocking feet. 
“ Wonder if—” 

Tim interrupted: “ Well, if he doesn’t, I do. ’ 


THE LOGGER 


55 


He turned to the engineer. “ I can count on you 
then to fire up at five forty-five in the morning? ” 

The engineer nodded. 

“ Yep.” 

Tim started to go away, but several who sat 
about a table playing cards asked him to sit in 
the game. One of the players looked up and smiled 
good-naturedly. 

“ I ain’t so allfired anxious fer ’im to. I know 
Tim’s luck.” 

When Tim sat down he was handed the deck 
of cards. 

“ Here, deal ’em up, Tim.” 

It was plain to be seen that every man in the 
bunkhouse respected his foreman. The very 
fact that he came among them and made a good 
fellow of himself substantiated him in their 
estimation. 

David Alden was somewhat of a riddle to them. 
They were still nonplussed that a ‘ white-collared 
sport from the East ” had come among them to 
succeed in an industry which they were convinced 
took many years to learn. But if Tim accepted 
Alden as being O.K., then that was enough. 

All during the game, Frank Jerome, a tall thin 
man in the early thirties, paced restlessly up and 
down the bunkhouse floor. At length some one 
shouted: “ Frank, why the hell don’t yu sit down 
an’ stay down once in a while? ” Leaning over, 
the man spat a stream of tobacco juice at the 
cuspidor. He missed his aim, and the juice 


56 


THE LOGGER 


trickled down the sides of the can. “ If you 
ain’t the damnedest fella — work all day slingin’ 
riggin’ — that ’ud wear out a huskier man than 
you — an’ then yu traipse up an’ down this floor 
all night. I swear, ’f I ain’t heard yu ever’ night 
fer a month, as much as a dozen times a night, 
trampin’ ’round here or out o’ doors. You’re 
the nervousest person I ever see.” 

Casting a swift glance at his censor, Frank sat 
down on the edge of his chair and looked on at 
the game for a time. Presently, when he was 
certain no one was looking, he rose and crept out 
of doors. When he returned he was a changed 
man. The night air had helped him. 

He sat calmly down before the fire. Soon he 
wanted to talk. He did talk. His tongue rattled 
at an amazing pace. No one paid a.ny attention 
to him. Frank was like that. Took the funniest 
spells. Sit around like he’d lost every friend on 
earth — then, maybe, go outside and come back 
in pretty soon, the jolliest fellow ever was. 

“Yu know one time over there in Skikomish I 
made the slickest cleanin’ in a poker game that 
any bird had ever been known tu make in that 
one-horse town — ” Frank went on, addressing 
those about him. He received an occasional nod, 
but otherwise no comment was offered on the tale 
that he spun in his short jerky manner. “This 
happened in the back o’ Benny Walker’s saloon. 
Straight poker that night an’ square cards. No 
booze. Sober as a judge, ever’ one o’ us. Well, 


THE LOGGER 


57 


Benny, he’d staked me to a twenty. I’d lost 
pretty heavy the night before. He wasn’t keen 
on lettin’ me have the money. Said if it wasn’t 
for my reputation as a card shark there wouldn’t 
be nothin’ doin’, but, gee menally — ” 

Frank’s listeners lost the story at this point. 
There was much excitement at the table. As usual 
Tim was winning but there was no feeling of resent¬ 
ment abroad. Everyone was laughing loudly. 

“ C’m on through with that bottle o’ ole Taylor 
yu got hid in yer bunk, Fred,” demanded one of 
the players. “ Want tu wet my whistle.” 

The bottle was produced and passed around. 
Tim looked at it critically. But a few days before 
Alden and he had talked of the men having liquor 
in the bunkhouses. Alden said it must stop. 
When the bottle came to him, Tim hesitated. He 
was hailed by a half-dozen voices: “ Aw, c’m on, 
Tim! What’s the matter ’ith yu tonight ? Anyone 
’ud think, way yu acted, you’d jist c’m up from 
Hoquiam an’ some Salvation Nell’d been after 
yu. C’m on, have a shot. Won’t hurt yu a bit.” 

“ Perhaps I hadn’t better say anything to¬ 
night,” Tim thought as he took a sup. 

“ Go on, take some,” said a man across the 
table. “ Don’t be scared of it. I got more over in 
my bunk.” 

“ That’s enough.” Tim passed the bottle on. 

It came to a slender, youthful-looking man with 
a spiritual face. He sat in the background. He 
lifted a hand in refusal. 


58 


THE LOGGER 


“ No, thank you.” 

The one who offered it to him grinned evasively. 

“ Aw, sure, I forgot you don’t drink. You’re 
the religious guy.” 

The other nodded. 

“ Yes.” 

“ All right, I’ll drink for you.” He tilted the 
bottle up to his lips and drank generously. Pass¬ 
ing it on, he turned to the religious guy. “ What 
d’ you get out o’ that saintly stuff anyway? ” 

The religious guy looked up at him earnestly. 

“I get a great deal, sir. I not only get the 
blessed satisfaction of living a righteous life here 
on earth, but also hope of eternal salvation in the 
hereafter.” The other smiled scornfully. “The 
Bible teaches us that we must make the most of 
life, because this is merely the preparation for the 
higher life. God so loved the world that he gave 
his only begotten Son that we might have life 
everlasting. In the book of Job it says: 4 He 
that — ’ ” 

“ Hey there, Sky Pilot, fer the love o’ Mike, 
cut it! ” came a shout from across the room. 
“ None o’ that holier-than-thou stuff tonight. A 
little o’ that goes a long ways, an’ we been pretty 
well fed up on it here lately.” 

“ I second the motion,” said another. “ A fella 
c’n stomick.that guff from some Salvation Nell 
down there in Hoquiam or Aberdeen after he’s 
been on a drunk fer a week, but under ordinary 
circumstances it don’t set well.” 


THE LOGGER 


59 


“ But, brother, have you never considered the 
welfare of your soul? Have you never thought of 
the hereafter? ” 

“ Naw, tu hell with it. I’m too dang busy con¬ 
sidering the ‘ here on earth ’ to think o’ the 
‘ after,’ an’ I’m makin’ a poor mess of it at that.” 

“You believe in a God, don’t you? ” 

The man smiled bitterly. 

“ I dunno whether I do or not.” 

“ But you must know — ” 

Some one from the table picked up a bootjack 
and threw it at the speakers. Then several others 
joined in and threw a volley of shoes at them. 
The religious guy took the assault in solemn dig¬ 
nity, but the other man threw the bootjack and 
the shoes back. 

“ What the hell er you fellas tryin’ tu start 
here? If yu want a rough house I’m right with 
yu,” and he aimed a calk boot at the head of one 
of his aggressors. Laughing, the other ducked, 
and was picking up another boot to throw when 
something in the front of the room interrupted 
him. All eyes turned to the door. Posey Murry 
stood before them. She was hailed with much 

gusto. , 

“Well, what d’ yu know ’bout that! There s 

Posey! ” 

Posey stopped a moment, poised as if trying to 
answer all of them at once. There was a genial 
smile upon her lips. She liked these men. She 
deposited her bundles on an empty table. 


60 


THE LOGGER 


“ There’s yer clean clothes,” she said turning 
to them. 

“ It’s a shame that kid’s got tu hoss our duds 
over here like that,” said one of the men. “ Some 
o’ us lubbers c’d git ’em ourselves.” 

Posey’s chin shot up. 

“ Humph! Then I wouldn’t have nothin’ tu 
c’m over fer.” 

Tim looked up at her curiously. 

“ Do you like to come over here, Posey? ” 

She nodded. 

“Yep, bet I do*. I’m most awful glad Mr. Alden 
bought this camp so’s it ’ud start up agin — ” 
She stopped suddenly. Her attention was attracted 
by one of the men sitting in the background. 

“ Why, Henry Hoggens, when did yu git back? ” 

Smiling, the man rose and came forward to 
shake hands with her. He was a small and rather 
unpretentious person, but there was a bright and 
somewhat unusual brilliancy about his eyes. 

“ Ah, Miss Posey, I — I supposed you had 
forgotten me — ” 

“ Fergotten yu! Sa-ay, not on yer life.” Posey 
paused and studied him thoughtfully. He flushed 
under her earnest gaze. “ S’pose I c’d fergit 
Henry Hoggens, late of the Botanical Gardens of 
Belfast, Ireland? Him that was picked with six 
others among all the soldiers of Ireland, by the 
King of England, to be educated in the greatest 
educational instu-to-o — institution in Ireland!” 
Pursing her lips, Posey’s eyes narrowed. “ Am I 


THE LOGGER 


61 


right, Henry?” Henry nodded. “And do yu 
still write poetry, Henry? ” 

He flushed again, but replied hastily: 

“ I— yes, I — I am still trying to write 
poetry — ” 

Posey jerked her head significantly. 

“ That’s right, Henry, jist keep on. Yu’ll git 
there. I don’t fergit the poems yu uset tu write 
ibout trees an’ birds an’ flowers. They were 
purty, them poems. I ’member the one yu wrote 
’bout the lady yu loved. Went somethin’ like 
this: 

“ ‘Once I loved a lady, 

The lady’s name was Sadie. 

And Sadie, she loved me, too. 

But this lady, Sadie, 

Her life was somewhat shady 
She had so many relations 
She didn’t know what to do. 

And Sadie’s relations 
They were very rich 
While my relations 
They were very poor. 

I would like to married Sadie 

And give her the name of Grady 

But I couldn’t keep the wolf from the door.’ ” 

Without respect to rhyme or meter Posey 
recited the poem as far as she remembered it. 
At length, she had to stop. 

“ I don’t know now jist how Grady come out, 
but I ’member it was most awful sad. He never 


62 


THE LOGGER 


did git money ’nough tu marry Sadie, an’ he 
was too proud tu marry ’er an’ live off o’ her 
relations. But how anyone"c’d ever write poetry 
an’ git su many words tu rhyme! Gee, ’f I’d eat 
a dictionary I never c’d git that many words tu 
sound alike.’ 

Posey’s praise gave Hoggens more confidence. 
Casting a swift glance about the room, he drew 
himself up proudly. He cleared his throat: “I —■ 
I am sure my poetry is much better now than 
when I wrote the Grady poem.” He was asked 
where his work was published. He coughed 
slightly to hide his embarrassment, and made a 
tremendous attempt at bravado: “Well, I—I 
just don’t get it published — ” He frowned 
judicially. “ You, doubtless, know that in the 
past few years the literary taste of the entire uni¬ 
verse has degenerated. People no longer appreciate 
the work of a true artist. That is, I mean the 
common herd. There are still a few who have not 
lost the artistic sense and — and I among others 
— a — refuse to sacrifice myself.” He paused to 
give these words time to permeate the minds of 
those about him. “ I am content to write for 
art’s sake.” 

To the amusement of his fellow loggers, Hog¬ 
gens ended by bowing low and then, as if some 
important mission called him out into the night, he 
turned and went outdoors. 

A number of the men grinned. 

“ Good Lord, some grand ole departure that 


THE LOGGER 


63 


bird makes. S’pose he was usin’ his artistic imagi¬ 
nation an’ thought he was makin’ that speech 
’fore the King o’ England or some high mogul,” 
said one. 

“ Unless Henry’s improved a heap since he 
wrote the Sadie Grady poem, he’d better stick to 
loggin’,” said another. 

Posey came to his rescue. 

“ Gee, I don’t know ’bout that. He sure c’n 
write some awful grand poetry.” Moving nearer 
the table she touched Tim on the arm. She held 
up her chin and leaned toward him. “ Say, d’ 
yu see my neck? ” 

Tim looked earnestly at the white column of her 
throat, and a dozen other pairs of eyes studied it 
carefully. She was asked what was the matter 
with it. Her chin dropped. She looked at the 
speaker defiantly. 

“ What’s the matter with it! Nothin’s the 
matter with it. It’s clean, ain’t it? An’ looka 
here.” Jerking the hair back from her face, she 
held an ear up before her audience. “ How’d yu 
like that? Clean neck an’ ears — that’s me.” She 
did not see the amused gleam in the eyes of nearly 
every man in the bunkhouse. 

“ Say, yu don’t mean tu say y’ve started tu 
wash yer neck an’ ears, Posey! ” one man shouted. 
“ Thought yu considered yerself a good logger.” 

Posey shot a swift glance at him. “ I do.” 

“Yu know what a logger thinks ’bout too much 
washin’.” 


64 


THE LOGGER 


“ yep, but — ” Posey hesitated. This man had 
challenged her. She was confused. “ Weh, Mother 
? McKnight’s been at me fer a long time ’bout 
cleanin’ myself up an’—an’ anyway I been 
thinkin’ a heap here lately.” She looked at the 
man. He was laughing. This made Posey indig¬ 
nant. “ An’ — couldn’t a logger be clean? ” The 
man did not answer her quickly enough, so she 
hurried on: “ Ever since the first time I seen Mis 
Alden in the post office over there in Humptulips 
with ’er neck an’ ears su clean — I — why, I jist 
made up my mind I’d clean mine, too.” Posey 
stopped and looked about her. She was not alto¬ 
gether satisfied with what she saw in the men’s 
eyes, but maybe it was true what Mother Mc¬ 
knight said ’bout men being different than 
women. An’ maybe they did appreciate her cleanin 
up but just did not know how to express them¬ 
selves. She was a trifle disappointed in them, but 
she continued bravely: “I’d o thought yu d all 
seen that I look different tonight. 

Tim came to her rescue. 

“ I did, Posey. I saw your hair was combed 
an’ your dress clean an’ —ironed.” 

Posey stroked her dress with her hands. 

“ Borrowed Mother McKnight’s iron.” 

Tim nodded approvingly. 

“ Did a good job of it, too.” He looked at her 
thoughtfully for a moment. “ Now that Old Cap 
has got a good job here with Alden, maybe you can 
get some o’ them pretty dresses you want so bad.” 

Posey shook her head. 


THE LOGGER 


65 


“ Nope. He owes Ed Seldon more fer groceries 
than he c’n make in a long while. Then how long’ll 
he stay sober? ” 

“ He might stay sober a long time. He might 
never booze again.” 

A hopeful light crept into Posey’s eyes. 

“ Gee, if that could only be so! ” 

Every man in the room knew Posey’s story. 
They were all very sorry for her. Standing there, a 
pathetic little figure in the dim light of the kero¬ 
sene lamp, the sympathy of each man went out to 
her. Posey sensed the vibration and when one 
man said: “ Poor kid, you’ve got it purty tough, 
ain’t yu? ” she tossed her head back. 

“ No, I ain’t. Ever su many people’s got it 
worse ’n me. I ain’t got any troubles — tell yu 
’bout me— Gee, ’f I was tu have any better 
time ’n I do, I jist wouldn’t know what tu do ’ith 
myself. S’pect I’d jist bust.” She turned quickly 
and looked toward the door. She thought the men 
did not know that it was to hide the flush which 
had spread from her cheeks to her throat. Con¬ 
trolling herself, she attempted to be gay. “ Well, 
guess I’ll be goin’.” She moved toward the door. 

Tim rose from his chair. 

“ Better let me go home with you, Posey.” 

She flung him an impudent glance. 

“ What for? ” 

“ It’s dark as pitch outside. Ain’t you afraid? ” 

“Unhunh! What’s tu be’fraid of ? ” Hurrying 
to the door she wrenched it open and fled out into 
the night. 


CHAPTER VI 


“ An’ now that Aunt Sally’s give up washin’ 
fer the Aldens they ain’t no reason why you 
shouldn’t have it, Mother McKnight.” 

“ But are you sure she has? ” 

“ No, I ain’t sure, but the other day when I 
was over in Humptulips I heard she had. If it 
hadn’t been late an’ I had tu git home, I’d o’ 
gone in an’ found out. I’m on my way over there 
now, an’ I’ll see Aunt Sally ’bout it today.” 
Posey paused and studied Mother McKnight’s 
kind old face for a moment. “ The reason I’m su 
anxious fer yu to git it, is ’cause I know they’ll 
pay yu well, an’ it’ll be easy as failin’ off of a log — 
No, I don’t mean jist that neither. No washin’ 
ain’t easy as failin’ off of a log —” Posey frowned. 
“It does beat hell — it’s awful,” she corrected 
hastily, “ that yu have tu work a’ tall. But ’f 
yu have tu wash clothes fer a livin’ it’s a lot 
better tu be washin’ Mis Alden’s embroidery 
shirtwaists an’ ’er bab^s petticoats than them 
there heavy ole clothes fer the loggers.” 

Mother McKnight looked thoughtfully out the 
window. 

“ Why, I don’t think it’s so awful to have to 
wash for a living. It’s all in the way you look at it. 
It’s just simply service to your fellow men, the 
66 


% 


THE LOGGER 


67 


same as any other work. Of course, it is considered 
that only ignorant people do smart people’s 
laundry, but when a person’s poor and hasn’t 
any other way of getting along, what else can 
they do ? If I was younger and stronger I wouldn’t 
mind it a bit. 

“I’ve always taken a good deal of delight in 
seeing a line of freshly washed clothes blowing 
in the wind. A body feels like they’d done some¬ 
thing worth while. Getting up in the morning 
with the sun and putting out a nice white washing 
seems a lot more satisfying than laying in bed 
and sleeping until all hours of the day.” Mother 
McKnight paused. “When you come to think 
of it, dirt is just dirt. No, I never could see why 
so many women hate to wash—” 

The conversation was brought to a close by 
the click of the front gate. Peering out the 
window they saw a man coming up the walk. 
Mother McKnight rose hastily. 

“ Oh, dear, it’s Johnny Moran and he’s holding 
his hand like he’d been hurt.” As the man 
approached the house she could see more closely. 
“ Yes, he has. There’s blood on the handkerchief 
he’s got wrapped around his hand. The poor boy! 
I wonder how bad it is? ” She moved toward the 
door. “ Oh, those logging camps! There isn’t a 
week passes but what some of the boys are over 
here with a mashed finger, or a cut, or something 
or other to be dressed —” She opened the door. 
“ What is it, Johnny? Are you hurt bad.” 


68 


THE LOGGER 


Johnny entered. His face was slightly pale. 

“ Naw, it ain’t nothin’ much, Mother. A bunch 
of us was in the tool house makin’ springboards 
an’ I cut my finger.” 

Mother McKnight sighed. 

“ Well, I’m glad it’s no worse. Come on in the 
kitchen. I’ve got some hot water in the tea¬ 
kettle. We’ll wash it first and then we will put 
some medicine on it and bandage it. 

Johnny sat down in a chair in the kitchen and 
began to unwrap the soiled handkerchief from 
about his hand. 

“ I wouldn’t o’ bothered you at all, Mother, f 
^hey’d a been a ciean rag in camp. A little cut 
like this don’t ’mount to nothin’.” 

“ Yes, but you must keep it clean so you won’t 
get infection in it. It’s the dirt that causes all 
the trouble.” Mother McKnight bustled about 
getting clean cloths and medicine. 

Posey offered to help, but Mother McKnight 
said there was nothing she could do. Then stating 
she was in a hurry, Posey departed. There was 
nothing unusual about Mother McKnight s 
attending a logger’s injuries. As Posey walked 
along the road she remembered that there were 
times when she had given her service in less minor 
cases. For instance, once when one of the men 
broke his nose by a flying sliver from a wedge. 
When the flow of blood could not be stopped 
Mother McKnight was sent for. She stopped the 
hemorrhage with the powder of dried puffballs. 


THE LOGGER 


69 


Another time one of the men came very near 
being killed by the line which just grazed his neck 
by a fraction of an inch below the shoulder. The 
man was unable to work for several weeks. 
Mother McKnight took him into her home and 
nursed him as if he had been her own son. 

“ My life ’ud o’ been different if my mother 
’ud o’ lived an’ she’d been like Mother McKnight,” 
Posey reflected as she walked through the cool 
woods. “ Ma was a good woman. I ’member 
yet how she uset tu talk tu me when I was little. 
She read the Bible tu me when Pa wasn’t ’round. 
She was unhappy ’cause he was a infidel —” 

Posey looked up into the tree tops through 
which the sunshine fell in a golden spray. 

“ Wonder why, when one o’ them had tu die, 
it wasn’t Pa. Ma was alius su decent. He uset 
tu rave at ’er ’bout ’er past life, but he was an’ 
ole liar. I know she’d alius been good, an’ I wish’t 
it ’ud a been him that ’ud a died ’stead o’ her.” 

In Humptulips Posey met a group of boys and 
girls on their way to Sunday school. She was 
asked if she was coming. Her eyes fell to her 
shabby dress and shoes. She shook her head. 
A number of small boys in the back called to her 
impudently. 

“ Hello, there’s Posey Skunk Cabbage. Hello, 
Skunk Cabbage.” 

Some of the older boys and girls giggled. 

“ Skunk Cabbage! Skunk Cabbage! ” shouted 
the small boys. 


70 


THE LOGGER 


Posey became furious. Picking up several 
small stones she looked at the young culprits 
threateningly. 

“ You call me that agin an’ I’ll let yu have 
these rocks right ’tween the eyes.” 

“ Haw, you couldn’t hurt nothin’, Skunk 
Cabbage! ” 

Drawing back, Posey was in the act of throwing 
the stones when some one caught her from behind. 
She whirled to face Alden. His wife stood a few 
feet away Her face flushed with anger, Posey 
looked up at Alden for an instant as if she chose 
to strike him. He smiled down upon her. Humili¬ 
ated, she dropped the stones. Alden said nothing. 
Ignoring the unpleasant situation, he drew back 
and lifted his hat. He turned to Tesa. 

“ X want you to meet Mrs. Alden, Miss Murry.” 

Posey bowed awkwardly. 

“ I’m pleased tu meet yu — Mrs. Alden —” 

Tesa acknowledged the introduction with a 
cold and formal nod and then moved on. Alden 
saw that Posey noticed this. He regretted it. 
He knew it did not add any balm to her already 
wounded feelings. In the eyes lifted to his there 
were revealed all the hurt pride and wretched¬ 
ness which the girl felt. He wished that he might 
say or do something to comfort her. He nodded 
toward the young people who were now at the 
top of the hill, the small boys following after 
them. 

“ I wouldn’t pay any attention to their teasing. 


THE LOGGER 


71 


They are just little boys. They mean no harm.” 

Posey’s eyes filled with hot tears. 

“ Who’s a-mindin’ ’em! ” Turning hastily, she 
fled, leaving Alden looking after her in perplexity. 
Wheeling about, he joined his wife. 

“You see what you get, my dear, when you 
come to the rescue of ragamuffins.” 

Alden became very grave. 

“ That child is no ragamuffin, Tesa.” 

She laughed. 

“ Oh, I suppose she is another of those princesses 
in disguise. I must say she shows no mark of 
distinction. Very much like the rest of these jungle 
people — they all seem cast in the same die—■ 
unless, perhaps, this one is a trifle odder than 
the others.” 

Alden made no reply to these remarks. In 
fact he scarcely heard them. His mind was deeply 
absorbed. 

“ What is there about that child which appeals 
to me so? There is something in her eyes that 
grips me; something I have never found in a pair 
of eyes before. Not even—” He glanced at his 
wife, whose profile was turned to him while she 
walked by his sid£. “ No, lovely as she is, I have 
never found the appeal in Tesa which I find in 
little Posey Murry. I wonder why —” 

Ashamed of the manner in which she had 
spoken to Alden when he had tried to offer his 
sympathy, Posey walked slowly toward Aunt 
Sally’s house. Her eyes were upon the ground. 


72 


THE LOGGER 


“ It was a most awful way tu act — but what’d 
he want tu come up there behind me an’ grab me 
when I was su mad at them damn kids for? ” 
Suddenly she looked up. “ I don’t care. I don’t! 
Why ought I should? They don’t have tu like me. 
Mis Alden an’ ’er hifalutin’ airs! She wouldn’t 
o’ even nodded tu me ’f he hadn’t made ’er. Acts 
like she thought she was ’bout ten million miles 
better ’n anybody else. An’ him — well, course, 
he’s different — only—” Something welled up 
in Posey’s heart. Her eyes again filled with tears. 
“ I — I do care ’bout Mr. Alden seein’ me mad.” 

Reaching Aunt Sally’s she found no one at 
home. Deciding she must be at her store, Posey 
returned to town. 

Aunt Sally’s store was in a small building across 
the street from the post office. She sold candy 
and chewing gum, thread, loggers’ cotton gloves 
and other small articles. On Sundays and holidays, 
if there were enough loggers in town, she sold 
lemonade. 

Aunt Sally had a reputation of being very 
unsanitary. The loggers declared she never washed 
the lemonade glasses between servings, and it 
was reported that she had been seen to lick the 
dust off of the candy where it lay uncovered upon 
the counter. However, there being no other place 
for miles where sweets could be purchased, these 
reports did not seem to interfere with her trade. 

Aunt Sally was passionately fond of gossip — 
not only the general incidents which occurred 


THE LOGGER 


73 


in the neighborhood, but anything exciting which 
happened in the logging camps. It mattered not 
whether it was humorous‘or tragic, so long as it 
satisfied her insatiable hunger for excitement. 

The loggers kept her well supplied with every 
incident which occurred among the camps, and 
many which never occurred. 

When Posey entered the store she found it full 
of loggers. Art Jackson, hook tender for Lockwood 
and McCoy, was leaning over the counter in 
very serious conversation with Aunt Sally. Art 
was known far and wide as being the biggest liar 
in any camp all up and down the river. Yet none 
of his tales were ever so exaggerated as to cause 
Aunt Sally to distrust him. 

“ You say a log rolled over Perry Balmer’s 
leg yesterday an’ it broke off an’ run in the 
ground! ” 

Jackson nodded. 

“Yep, that’s what I said.” 

Aunt Sally stared at him as hard as her near¬ 
sightedness would permit. 

“ Well, well — what’d they do ’bout it? ” 

Jackson winked at those about him, but his 
face was deeply solemn as he looked into Aunt 
Sally’s blinking eyes. 

“ What’d they do ’bout it? What could they 
do but just leave the leg there an’ pack ole Jerry 
out to town without it? ” 

“ Tsu, tsu! Tsu, tsu! Well, fer all this world!” 

Aunt Sally still suspected nothing when Jackson 


THE LOGGER 


% 74 

got choked on his chewing gum and had to go 
outside for a time. When he returned he bought 
a pound of chocolates dnd passed the box around. 

“ Gosh, Aunt Sally, this is tame stuff fer loggers. 
Ain’t you got a little ole Taylor or somethin 7 
hid around somewhere? ” 

Aunt Sally’s lips puckered tightly. 

“ Indeed, I hain’t.” 

Jackson laughed. 

“ You know, I never could see why you didn’t 
run a blind pig in connection with this store. 
When they ain’t no saloons nearer than Hoquiam 
you ought to do good sellin’ a little bootleg on 
the side.” 

Aunt Sally swelled with indignation. 

“ I’ll have you know, Art Jackson, that I’m a 
Christian woman an’ don’t b’lieve in no such 
goin’s on! ” 

Jackson held up a hand as if to shield himself 
from her ire. 

“ Oh, that’s right. Sure you are. I forgot. No 
hard feelings now. That was merely a suggestion. 
But why ain’t you in church right this minute? ” 

“ I have to look after the store.” 

“ Humph, tough luck. S’pose we close up 
shop and we all go to church. How does that 
sound? I wouldn’t mind singing ‘ Saved by 
Grace ’ with that pretty schoolmarm at the 
organ.” 

With a designing smile Aunt Sally shook a 
finger at him. 


THE LOGGER 


75 


“ Aw, you’re a great josher, you are, Art 
Jackson. I’d o’ thought you’d try to make a 
mash on ’er yerself — ” 

Jackson tilted his hat back on his head. 

“Not a chance in the world with all these 
other loggers so close. I do pretty well to get a 
waltz with ’er or a cowdrille on Saturday nights. 
But what chance has a fella got that’s twenty 
miles away, an’ Alden’s men just over across the 
river from here? ” 

When the loggers had departed, Posey stated 
her errand to Aunt Sally. Aunt Sally accepted 
the proposition with good grace. She was willing 
to relinquish all rights on the Aldens’s family 
washing, but with the air of a connoisseur she 
demanded to know if Mother McKnight was 
capable of filling the position. 

“You Jmow this ain’t no logger’s washin’—” 

Posey nodded emphatically. 

“ I know it, but they ain’t no better washer on 
earth ’n Mother McKnight.” 

Aunt Sally’s thin lips pressed tightly together.> 

“ I ain’t so sure ’bout that.” 

Posey flushed. She resented Mother McKnight’s 
ability being doubted. “ Well, I am.” 

Aunt Sally disregarded this. 

“ Mis Alden’s awful perticular. Wants ’er 
clothes wrenched through three waters. Two 
before the bluin’.” 

“ Mother McKnight’ll do all that.” 

“ An’ they have tu be ironed jist so.” 


76 THE LOGGER 

% 

“ Yep. Well, Mother McKnight’U iron em 
jist so.” 

“ An’ fold all the flat pieces so’s the edges er 
right together — she’s that finicky.” 

Posey was not to be discouraged. 

“ Umph humph. She won’t have nothin tu 
kick ’bout from Mother McKnight.” 

Aunt Sally leaned over the counter and lowered 
her voice. 

“ They use napkins at their table.” 

“ No! All the time? ” 

Aunt Sally’s nearsighted eyes blinked decisively. 

“ All the time. Change ’em every day, too.” 

Posey gasped. This seemed incredible. 

“ Gee, they must be most awful high-toned! ” 


CHAPTER VII 


Alden stepped into Tim’s combined office and 
living quarters one morning as one of the men had 
come up for his time. 

“ Well, I got ’er made, Tim. Guess I’ll bunch 
it.” 

Tim turned to the man. 

“ You’re not going to quit now! ” 

“ Yep. Goin’ down the pike this momin’.” 

“ But, hell, Claude, this ain’t the Fourth o’ 
yet. Ain’t you kinda rushin the season? 

Claude shifted a bit uncomfortably. 

“ Too much money bumin’ in my pockets. 
I’m a rearin’ to go on a jamboree. Anyway, if 
I don’t git down tu Hoquiam purty soon, some 
other guy’ll beat me to Red Rita. Can t tell 
nothin’ ’bout that girl. Today yu got ’er an’, 
maybe, tomorrow yu ain’t.” 

Tim’s dark Irish eyes flashed. 

“ You better, steer clear of Red Rita. That 
dame’s fleeced more loggers than any other woman 
of her kind on Gray’s Harbor.” 

Claude smiled bitterly. 

“ Yeah? Well,” he indicated the time book 
lying on the table before Tim, “ make ’er out 
anyway — I’m gone.” 

He stood silently by while Tim made up his 
time and then wrote a check for the amount in 
77 


78 


THE LOGGER 


full owed him by the Alden Logging Works. 
Handing over the check, Tim smiled genially. 

“ There you are, Claude, old boy. When you 
need more money come on back.” Claude took 
the check and tried to hide a look of pleasure as 
he thrust it in his pocket. He turned to go. “ Say 
‘Hello’ to Old Bill in the Log Cabin for me,” Tim 
added. Claude nodded. As he was leaving some 
one hailed him in the road. 

“ Hey, Claude, don’t fergit tu bring somethin’ 
back with yu when yu come! ” Knowing Alden 
was present and not certain that he did not know 
what “ somethin’ ” meant, Claude ignored the 
good-natured demand and went on his way. Alden 
and Tim looked after him in silence. He dis¬ 
appeared into the bunkhouse. Presently he came 
out with his roll of dirty blankets. 

Tim turned to Alden. 

“ Well, he’s off. Too much prosperity.” 

“ What will he do with all his money? ” 

“ Do with it! Lord — it won’t be three days ’til 
Calihan at the Log Cabin Saloon — that’s Claude’s 
hang out — an’ Red Rita there at Sweeney’s 
Dance Hall in Hoquiam will have every cent of it. 
Likely he’ll have to borrow the dough to get back 
to camp on. Claude thinks he’s gone for good. 
They all do when they leave. They’re damn glad 
to get back on the job again in two weeks at the 
longest.” 

Alden gazed thoughtfully out toward the 
bunkhouses. 


THE LOGGER 


79 


“ What an existence, Tim! When are these men 
going to wake up to realize the lives they are 
living? ” 

Tim laughed harshly. 

“ They’re not livin’, Dave. Nine loggers out 
o’ ten ain’t no more than a dead soul migratin’ 
around in the boots of a wreck of human 
machinery.” 

Alden was silent a moment. Dreadful as it 
seemed, what Tim said was all too true. Suddenly 
an overwhelming sadness swept him. 

“ Tim, there must be something done! The 
breath of life must be restored to these men.” 

Tim shook his head doubtfully. 

“ Maybe so. But I’ll wager it’ll take stronger 
men than you or me to do it, Dave.” 

Tim rose and put on his coat. It was time to 
get out into the woods. They went outside 
together. Alden had started away when Tim 
called him back. 

“ Say, listen, Dave, don’t you think we’ve 
been usin’ this yarder for a roader an’ a loader 
long enough? Now that we’ve got well under way 
an’ cleaned up on them first forties, I b’lieve it’s 
about time to get a loader. We sure need one 
bad.” 

Alden nodded. 

“ Yes, I know we do.” 

“ We can use it for a roader an’ do the loadin’. 
Just use the one we’ve got now for a yarder. 
With them two donkeys we can increase' our 


80 


THE LOGGER 


output half what we are doing at present. The 
timber we have in front of us guarantees good 
machinery. We don’t want to try to log with a 
hay wire outfit, an’ I never did like the idea of a 
line horse.” Tim paused and looked at Alden 
inquisitively. “What do you think about it?” 
Alden hesitated a moment. Tim misunderstood 
his silence. “Well — of course, we can go on a 
while with the yarder. But we’ll soon have to 
have a roader—” 

“ No, no. Certainly we will have to have a 
roader. I was just thinking— Perhaps I had 
better go to Aberdeen right away to see about that.” 

“ Well, if you could manage it. I think we 
could go a lot faster. We can put a loadin’ crew 
down at the landin’ an’ throw the yarder over 
on the other forty. The roader could handle the 
logs from the yarder an’ catch some on the other 
landin’ by using the whip line or snapper. What 
she can’t reach we can get on our return. 

“ An’ say, Dave, we’ve got to have some new 
line. Yesterday the men were splicin’ the old 
line with a wire axe when I come along. The hook 
tender raised hell about it. Said there was so 
damn many jaggers on that line that it wouldn’t 
go through the bull block. We’ve got several 
eye splices and a Molly Hogan in it now.” 

Alden lifted his hand hastily to interrupt Tim. 

“ I’ve already ordered that line. I have twelve 
hundred feet of inch and a quarter coming in 
tomorrow.” 


THE LOGGER 


81 


“ Good! ” Tim started to go but paused again. 
“ By the way, Dave, when you’re buyin’ haul- 
back for your roader don’t get it too small. 
Nothin’ smaller than five-eighths. An’ it wouldn’t 
be wise to buy a cheap bull block. You want 
plenty qf room for the chokers to run through it. 
See that your grease cup is big enough or it will 
burn up on us.” 

“ Thank you, Tim, I shall see to everything.” 

“ Yeah. Well, I think with the new roader 
we’ll be pretty well lined up for a while. When 
we get further back in the timber, the yarder 
can butt the logs down an’ the roader can put 
them on the landin’. An’ that reminds me 
get a loader with a drum big enough to carry 
fifteen hundred to two thousand feet of line.” 

“ I’ll do that, Tim. I’m glad you told me.” 

Tim turned. 

“ Well, so long.” He started away but stopped 
again. “ Guess you’re too late to get down town 
today —” 

“ I think so. I’ll go down with Alvin in the 
morning.” 

“ That’s right, Alvin does go to town for a load 
tomorrow. Don’t s’pose you’ll be back over to 
camp any more before you go ” 

“ Not unless there is something you want. 

“ No, not a thing. So long.” 

“ Goodbye, Tim.” 

Riding beside Alvin, the teamster,, over the 
puncheon road to Hocjuiam next morning, Alden 


82 


THE LOGGER 


groaned more than once as the wheels thumped 
over the rough places and the wagon bed came 
down with a crash. 

“ Talk about the rocky road to Dublin! I’ll 
warrant this twenty-eight miles from Hurnptulips 
to Hoquiam holds the world s record for the 
most bumps per mile. Really a corduroy road is 
smooth as glass in comparison to this. 

“ Yah, it is pretty bad,” said Alvin, in his soft 
Scandinavian accent. “ Yet, I tink I haf seen 
vorse.” 

Alden shook his head and smiled dryly. 

“ Impossible, man.” 

Alvin stopped the horses a moment to take a 
chew of “ snuss.” Alden looked on in amused 
silence. With a satisfied gleam in his eyes Alvin 
rolled the snuff under his tongue, then, picking up 
the lines, bade the horses to move on. 

“ It seems it would be greatly to the interest 
of Gray’s Harbor County to improve this road. 
That Hurnptulips country is one of the richest 
timber belts in the state. Then there is Quiniault 
and the Queets to be opened up to the north. 
In fact I think it would be a paying proposition 
to have good roads right through from the Harbor 
to Port Angeles.” 

“ Dey haf surweyed along de river for a road 
from Ploquiam to Hurnptulips — a good gravel 
road.” 

“ So I have heard. Well, I shall do all I can to 
see that it is put through at once.” 


THE LOGGER 


83 


Alvin nodded with a detached air. Obviously 
he was not especially interested in roads, whether 
good or bad. 

“ Doubtless, he has bumped over this road so 
long that he would be uncomfortable on a smooth 
road,” thought Alden. “ Yet — how could he? ” 

The banks were closed when they got to town. 
Alden went over to Aberdeen and registered at the 
Washington Hotel. He had a shave and a shine, 
and bought some good cigars, from which he 
selected one and deposited the rest in his vest 
pocket. He lit his cigar and went out to make 
several calls before the offices closed. 

The night after he had talked with Tim, Alden 
decided to borrow ten thousand dollars from the 
Hays & Hays Bank of Aberdeen. After he had 
gone to bed he thought the matter out and 
concluded it was the best plan. His six hundred 
and forty acres were good security. He believed 
he would have no difficulty in securing the loan. 

“ If I can just get by this first hard place, 
after that it will be smooth skidding, as the boys 
over at camp would say. And I am going to buy 
up ali the timber I can get hold of. It is the only 
way to get a start. 

“ The ten thousand will buy that ten by fifteen 
Willamette loader and also pay for the new line. 
That will just about put me on my feet. I’ve 
got enough ahead for the Fourth o’ July pay roll. 
By that time I will be getting returns on orders 
filled and can begin buying timber.” 


84 


THE LOGGER 


With something of an air of prestige Alden took 
the table which the head waitress assigned him 
in the dining room of the Washington that 
evening. He was a bit amused at his own manner. 

“ You aren’t getting a trifle puffed up, are you, 
Alden?” he asked himself, as he took out the 
Chicago Blade and scanned the headlines. He 
had not been satisfied with the Aberdeen World,' 
he wanted some real news. “ You know egotism 
is indication of a small mind —’ ’ He continued 
his self-analysis. “ But this is not egotism,” his 
subconscious mind replied. “ Just satisfaction 
with the beginning of the great adventure.” 

The waitress came for his order. He wanted 
oysters. He wanted something especially good. 
He was in great spirits. If only Tesa were with 
him. But she had refused to come. 

“ Poor child, she said that Aberdeen was but a 
degree better than Humptulips. She is taking this 
pretty hard. I guess I made a mistake in bringing 
her west. It has been too much of a comedown 
all at once; this losing everything and then coming 
away out here.” 

The waitress came with his oysters. 

Alden noticed the man across the table from 
him had been watching him keenly, especially 
since he had taken the Chicago Blade from his 
pocket. Presently the man spoke. 

“ You are from Chicago, aren’t you? ” Alden 
nodded. “Used to be with a firm of Fennel, 
Gustavson & Fennel, didn’t you? ” 


THE LOGGER 


85 


“ Yes.” 

“ The minute I laid eyes on you I thought I 
had seen you before. I’m from old Chi, myself. 
Commercial traveler. Glendenning Iron Works.” 

“ Oh, yes.” Alden immediately remembered 
the firm. He reached over and gave the stranger 
his hand. “ Glad to see some one from home.” 
The other smiled cordially. 

“ Pretty lonesome burg, this, eh? — after 
Chicago. How do you happen to be away out 
here in the West? ” 

“ Gone into logging up on the Humptulips.” 

“ Humptulips! Good Lord, what a name. Where 
is it? ” 

“ A trifle over thirty miles north of here.” 

“ Oh, up in the big timber.” 

Alden nodded. 

“ How do you like it? ” 

“ Fine.” 

The stranger drew back from the table and 
studied Alden. 

“Well, a person never gets so far away but 
what he meets some one from home.” His eyes 
narrowed. “Your firm went bump, didn’t it?” 

“ Yes; lost everything, too. ’ ’ 

“ Humph.” 

The two men were soon exchanging confidences. 
After dinner they spent the evening together. 
Once the other asked Alden what he thought of 
the lumberjacks. 

“ Pretty rough class of men, aren’t they? ” 


86 


THE LOGGER 


“ The loggers! Never met a finer class of men 
to deal with. They are rough and ready, but they 
are true-blue to the core. You can depend upon 
them. When they are your friends, they are your 
friends. And work! Why, if every other class of 
men worked like the logger, while he does work, 
the world would be overflowing with prosperity 
in no time. Those fellows just buckle in from 
seven in the morning until six at night with no 
thought of shorter hours or relief from their 
labors. And there isn’t a harder line on earth 
than the one they follow; hard and exceedingly 
dangerous. Life in peril every moment of the day. 
The line might break; a tree might not fall the 
right way; a log might roll over them. But never 
a murmur. Those boys are real heroes.” 

The next day Alden met with a surprise. The 
Hays & Hays Bank would not make him the 
loan. 

“ But I have the security. Surely six hundred 
and forty acres of timber is sufficient security 
for a loan of this size.” Alden asked to see 
the president. The cashier ushered him into the 
private office. The president, too, was adamant. 
Alden was amazed. 

“ Why, it isn’t as if I were broke — I have 
money enough to get along with. My camp is on 
a paying basis. But it is necessary to put in a 
roader, and I wanted this loan in case I should 
need it for the Fourth o’ July pay day. Although 
a logger pays his men but twice a year, it does 


THE LOGGER 


87 


make it a bit hard to draw on his funds so 
heavily —” 

“ Well, the only thing I can see for you to do 
is to make us up a statement.” The president 
opened a drawer of his desk and drew out a sheet 
of paper. “ Here is a blank. As soon as you have 
made up a statement, bring it in, and I believe 
we can let you have the money.” 

Alden spent some time making out a correct 
account of his assets and his liabilities. When he 
had finished he returned to the bank. The president 
studied the statement for a time. 

“Yes, this looks all right, yet you are a stranger 
and, as this money is going back into the business, 
we will loan you the ten thousand, but will require 
a note with the signature of your wife and your¬ 
self—” The president paused and looked at 
Alden thoughtfully. “ I have heard of you, 
Mr. Alden. There are those who think you display 
a large degree of stamina when you attempt what 
you have with so little experience. For my part, 
I admire your nerve, and wish you all kinds of 
luck.” He smiled. “ Bring your wife in and we 
will draw up the note at once.” 

Alden was provoked as he rode home on the 
mail stage next morning. He was in hopes to 
have settled his business without difficulty. At 
home he met with another surprise. Tesa refused 
to sign the note. She treated his request with the 
utmost indifference. 

“ No, I will sign nothing. Haven’t you carried 


88 


THE LOGGER 


on this child’s game long enough? Sell your timber 
outright and let’s take the money and return to 
Chicago. As it is, you may play around until 
you lose the timber and we will be left with 
nothing —” 

Alden was astonished. 

“ Tesa, what can you mean? ” 

“Just what I say, exactly.” 

“ But surely you do not consider my business 
a child’s game! ” 

She gave a patronizing little smile. 

“ I do.” 

“ Have you no confidence in my executive 
ability? ” 

“ It isn’t a question of confidence in your 
executive ability; it is an entire lack of sympathy 
in the venture.” 

Alden was both amazed and hurt at this. 

“This is no venture, Tesa. When the first 
axe blazed a tree over there in the woods, my mind 
was firmly made up that I was going to make 
good.” He paused and eyed her narrowly. “Of 
course, if you are not going to help me, then I shall 
go on — alone.” 

Tesa was a trifle shocked at this outburst. 
It was the first time he had ever spoken to her in 
such a steadfast manner. Heretofore he had 
yielded more or less to her bidding. She was 
immediately too filled with self-pity to appreciate 
his point of view. Bewildered, she fled from the 
room. 


THE LOGGER 


89 


Hoping there might be a way in which to induce 
the bank to make a loan without the note, Alden 
returned to town next day. 

“ Sorry, Mr. Alden, but we cannot do it,” said 
the president. 

Troubled, Alden shook his head. 

“Not even with the security I have—” The 
president eyed him keenly. “We acknowledge 
the fact that you have the security. And we 
have the money. But it must be legal.” 

Alden turned to go. He felt a trifle sick at heart. 
Why wouldn’t Tesa sign that note? Perhaps, if 
he had reasoned with her. Come to think of it, 
he had been too harsh and abrupt. It had given 
the poor girl a dreadful surprise. 

The president of the bank called him back. 

“ Listen, Mr. Alden; I would like to help you. 
But this shoe-string logging is such a gamble. 
Yet I have an idea. Are you incorporated? ” 

Alden moved toward him. 

“ No.” 

“ Then incorporate. It is the simplest thing 
in the world.” 

Alden looked at him as if he thought the 
president were joking. Besides it was absurd 
to think of his little “one-horse” enterprise as 
being a corporation. He hesitated and uncon¬ 
sciously retreated a few steps. The banker read 
his thoughts and smiled. 

“ Are you frightened by my suggestion? ” 

Alden laughed. 


90 


THE LOGGER 


“ Oh, no, I’m not frightened. Even the thought 
of such a possibility sort of takes me off my 
feet.” 

“ Why? ” The president paused for an instant 
and then went on hastily: “ I never could quite 
clearly understand why corporations are looked 
upon as something which is vast and threatening, 
the forerunner of certain disaster, such as thunder 
clouds or typhoons. The truth is that they are 
nothing more than combining capital and credit 
to carry on large business. They are in fact a 
wonderful protection.” 

Alden listened silently while the president 
continued. Suddenly he had a feeling of great 
respect for this older and more experienced man. 
What he was saying was true. He wondered why 
he had not looked upon the matter in just this 
light before. 

“ Corporations are just like individuals,” the 
president was saying. “ If the men composing 
them are intelligent, well informed and fair in 
their dealing, they are a blessing, and carry on 
large enterprises that otherwise, singly, they 
could not attempt to do. True, a corporation, 
like an individual, can be cold and calculating and 
take advantage of those in weaker circumstances. 
In that event they are a curse to the country, 
whether they be a corporation or an individual. 

“ But let me say right here: were it not for 
corporations there would be no railroads across our 
American continent even to this day. There would 


THE LOGGER 


91 


not be hundreds and thousands of other great 
enterprises for which our country is famous—” 
A week later the Alden Logging Works had the 
legal right to sign all correspondence Alden 
Logging Company, Incorporated. And they 
boasted a capital of fifty thousand dollars. 

Alden managed to get Tesa’s acceptance to 
sign the corporation papers upon receipt of ten 
thousand dollars’ worth of shares in the new 
company, and a promise that at any time she 
desired to go East she would be free to sell her 
shares outright to the company. 

The principal stockholder of the Alden Logging 
Company, Incorporated, was David Alden. The 
next in importance, although far down on the 
margin of the stock, was Tim McAvoy. 


CHAPTER VIII 


In a little clearing out in the woods, Posey lay 
upon her back looking upward where summer 
clouds floated lazily in the disk of sky that was 
visible among that wall of trees. While she lay 
there brooding dreamily she thought of what 
Mother McKnight had once said when Posey 
and she sat in her yard one supny afternoon: 

“ Our life is like that sky. It really is awfully 
big and broad but, because there is so much 
between us, so many little immaterial things, and 
what it actually is, it is hid from us; like the sky 
is hid from the timber. We think there isn’t any 
change going on in our lives from day to day. 
We think we’re just going on living the same from 
one day to the next, year in and year out. We 
can’t notice what is going on right before our eyes 
because, like the clouds up there, the movements 
are so slow.” 

But while she reflected, Posey was conscious 
that a change had come into her life. It dated 
back to the first day she had met David Alden. 
As the thought of him came swimming up into 
her conscious mind, Posey closed her eyes as if 
she feared that even this mere thought of one 
whom she cherished so dearly might escape into 
the intangible glory of the day. 

92 


THE LOGGER 


93 


Suddenly a tremendous impulse seized her. 
She jumped to her feet and gazed intensely out 
into the woods. The dreamy mood left her. She 
wanted to shout, to dance, to gallop across the 
clearing and plunge into the thicket and bury her 
face in the cool moss on the ground. She walked 
over to a fallen log and, leaning against it, looked 
long and earnestly up into the trees. 

She became calm again. It was nice to be out 
there in the woods alone. Mother McKnight said 
she often went out all by herself into the forest to 
commune with nature. 

“ Guess that’s what makes ’er different than 
other folks ’round here. She says people don’t 
live near ’nough tu nature. Says we ought to 
take a few hours at least every week an’ jist go 
right out into the woods an’ set down on a log 
an’ jist forgit ever’thing. She says it ’ud do us 
as much good as goin’ tu church er readin’ the 
Bible er prayin’.” Posey frowned thoughtfully. 
“ Well, I guess it’d be all right. It sure has made 
a most awful grand woman o her. I m goin tu 
try it sometime myself — 

“ Mr. Alden calls Mother McKnight the little 
woman who lives by the road an, is a friend to 
man. He tole me a story one day ’bout a woman 
that was like that. He says Mother McKnight 
has a beautiful soul. I don’t know jist exactly 
what a soul is, but whatever it is — I bet he s 
got it too—” 

A robin darted out of the forest and settled 


94 


THE LOGGER 


upon a bush near her. Posey watched him as he 
chirped and looked at her defiantly *, as if daring 
her to try to catch him. Presently he flew away 
and she noted the splash of gay coloring he made 
against the deep green of the trees. The woods 
were alive with the song of birds. Bees and insects 
hummed about her. Squirrels and chipmunks 
chattered. A rabbit hopped out of the underbrush 
and, seeing Posey, dove back into the thicket. 
She watched the rustle of the leaves where the 
little animal had made its escape. There was 
something vitally interesting about these dwellers 
of the forest. 

Something in the absolute harmony of every¬ 
thing about her reminded her of the contrast 
between this and her own home. It came to her 
that one might learn a great lesson in not only 
beauty but also system and cleanliness, in the 
methodical way in which nature went about its 
work of purification and growth. Posey’s mind 
was susceptible to the influence of good about her 
that day. But instead of it appealing to loftier 
ideals, the welfare of her spirit, it whipped her 
into action regarding her neglect of material 
things. 

Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she 
rushed out of the woods and sped along the path 
which led to her home. Arriving there, she 
immediately lighted the fire and set a kettle of 
water on the stove to heat. She looked about her 
in disgust at the table still standing with the 


THE LOGGER 


95 


unwashed breakfast dishes, the beds left just as 
they had been when her father and she had 
crawled out of them that morning, the floor 
littered with several weeks’ accumulation of 
dirt. 

“ Damned ole shack! Bet I’ll make it look like 
somethin’ fer once,” she muttered as she started 
a violent assault upon the interior of it. “ Maybe 
’f I hurry I c’n swamp ’er out ’fore Pa gits here.” 

Going outside she brought in a shovel and a 
pail to scoop up the splinters and bark chips 
from about the stove, the potato peelings, bread 
crumbs and bits of rags that littered the shack 
from one end to the other. 

The Murry home was but one room and an 
attic, which was accessible only by a none-too- 
secure-appearing ladder. The meager furnishings 
were almost entirely homemade, with the exception 
of an old and battered chest of drawers that came 
from no one knew where. All Posey knew was 
that it had been her mother’s. Now the drawers 
were quite empty. They were for clothes, but 
Posey and her father had no clothes to put in them. 
They were, however, a splendid haunt for 
wood rats in which to hide their loot. 

The stove was merely a makeshift, rusted until 
it threatened to crumble into a heap of wreckage, 
the fire box burned out until the ashes fell into 
the oven. 

But Posey was not at all discouraged this day 
as she snatched the worn broom from its corner 


96 


THE LOGGER 


and proceeded to sweep; not only the middle of 
the floor but also under her father’s bed and her 
own rickety cot. Presently she discovered that 
the table was uncovered and the dust was flying 
in a cloud. Jerking the much soiled dish towel 
from the clothesline, she spread it over the food 
and the unwashed breakfast dishes. This disturbed 
the flies which had been congregated about the 
sugar bowl. They buzzed furiously about the 
table until Posey shooed them through the open 
door. 

By the time she had finished sweeping, the 
scrub water was hot. She splashed the hot suds 
over the floor and scoured it about with the broom 
with long vehement strokes, as if it were the 
floor’s fault that it was so filthy and she was 
punishing it. She was in the middle of this when 
her father appeared in the door. 

Posey was surprised. He had come home early. 
She looked up at him and was going to smile a 
welcome. The smile froze into a look of horror. 
He was rip roaringly drunk. 

Old Cap Murry could drink whiskey all day 
and still keep on his feet. And his tongue never 
got thick. But whiskey made him want to fight. 
As the loggers said: “ When Ole Cap gits soused, 
he wants to clean up on some one.” All the “ old 
timers ” knew enough to keep out of his way when 
he was intoxicated. Consequently Posey was the 
one on whom he satisfied his desire for fight. 

The situation was painful. If she stayed away 


THE LOGGER 


97 


while he was drinking, he whipped her for neglect¬ 
ing her duty to him. If she stayed home she was 
whipped anyway. She knew the moment he 
appeared in the door that evening that this was 
going to be one of his bad times. 

Steadying himself carefully he came into the 
house. He stood for a time looking sullenly about 
him. His eyes fell upon the littered table. Then 
he turned to the stove. There was no evidence of 
the preparation of a meal. This angered him. He 
scowled darkly at Posey. 

“ Why ain’t supper ready?” 

Posey paused in her scrubbing. 

“ Yer home early, Pa.” 

He had not noticed the mop pail and the 
wet floor before. 

“ What the hell yu tryin’ tu do? ” He indicated 
the pail. 

Posey smiled nervously. 

“I — I was a swampin’ out the ole shack.” 

He moved toward the pail of hot suds and gave 
it a kick, which overturned it, and the soapy water 
poured out upon the floor. 

“ Why the devil didn’t yu do that this momin’? 
I want my supper.” 

“ But I thought I had lots o’ time. Yu usually 
ain’t home by this time, Pa.” Posey wiped her 
wet hands on the front of her dress. 

“ Ain’t no difference when I’m home. How long 
V I tole yu tu alius have somethin’ ready case 
I do come? ” He looked at the table. There s 


98 


THE LOGGER 


the damn dishes left jist like they wuz this momm ! 
Where the hell yu been all day? ” 

“I had tu take the Aldens’s washin’home fer 
Mother McKnight.” 

“ Tu hell with Mother McKnight an* ’er 
washin’! Why wuzn’t yu home lookin’ after yer 
own work? ” He dropped heavily into a chair. 
“Yer alius runnin’ after her an doin thanky 
jobs fer ’er.” 

Posey paused in her scrubbing and looked up 
at him. 

“ I ain’t. She pays me a little—” Posey had 
no more than said this when she regretted it. 
Her father did not know that Mother McKnight 
gave her some compensation for the help she 
was only too glad to give. 

He straightened up suddenly and eyed her as 
shrewdly as his whiskey-numbed mind would 
permit. 

“ What’d yu do ’ith the money? ” 

Posey hesitated. 

“ Payin’ Ed Seldon on our grocery bill —” 

“ The hell yu are.” 

“ An’ — an’ I’m a wantin’ a new dress.” 

Old Cap rose angrily. He shot a warning finger 
out at her. 

“ Don’t begin that agin. Yu know what 
happened last time. C’m on git me some supper.” 

Posey wanted to fipish her scrubbing, but she 
knew it was useless to argue with him. She 
hastened about warming up the cold boiled 


THE LOGGER 


99 


potatoes and cooking a pot of coffee. A number 
of times she cast covert glances at him where he 
sat with his eyes stupidly cast downward. A wave 
of disgust swept her. How long was she going to 
be getting meals ready for a drunken father? She 
had hoped that what Tim McAvoy had prophesied 
was true. Now she accepted her disappointment 
with something of the stoic manner of the fatalist. 
As she moved about, her heart felt like a heavy 
sodden lump which hung in her breast. 

When she placed the meal before him, her father 
looked at it sullenly for a moment and then 
shoved the plate of potatoes away. 

“ Where’s the meat? ” 

“ They ain’t none.” 

He looked at her as if he did not believe her. 

“Where’s the meat?” he repeated, in a loud 
voice. 

“ I tell yu they ain’t none.” 

“ Mean tu say yu wuz over tu Hump tulips 
today an’ never got none, yu fool! ” 

“ Ed ain’t trustin’ us fer no more meat ’til we 
pay fer what we already bought. He says ’f yu 
c’n pay them fellers what yu borryed money from, 
yu c’n pay ’im somethin’ too.” 

Old Cap leaned over the table and leered at her. 

“Yer a damn liar. He never said no sech 
thing.” 

This angered Posey. She was warned of the 
coming storm, but her rebellious little spirit did 
not heed the warning. Her eyes flashed. 


100 


THE LOGGER 


“ I ain’t! Don’t yu call me a liar, neither.” 

Old Cap pushed his chair back and rose from 
the table. Posey knew all too well what was his 
intent. She knew that he intended to beat her 
before he started for the woodpile. Her anger 
turned to fright. 

“ No! No! Pa, don’t do that! I’m tellin’ yu 
the truth. Honest! Don’t lick me, Pa. I — I 
can’t stand it.” 

He did not heed her pleading. Picking up a 
stick of wood he advanced toward her. 

“ Yu got tu stand it, Til yu learn tu quit sassin’. 
I’m yer father. Yer goin’ tu mind me, if I have tu 
lick hell out o’ yu tu learn yu —” 

Something about his grotesquely twisted 
features revolted Posey. The fear and hate she 
always felt for him when he was intoxicated 
returned to her, this time more bitter than ever 
before. She felt she could not endure to have his 
cruel hands touch her. Back in her subconscious 
mind rose revolt which was more poignant than 
her fear. In that moment Posey knew that she 
would never plead with her father again. She 
would demand. 

“ Don’t yu dare touch me, Pa! ” she cried. 

If this daring bravado surprised him, Old Cap 
showed no signs of it. He paid no attention to 
her demand. He made a dash for her, but missed 
his aim. Posey was near the stove. There was a 
kettle of boiling water sitting over the fire. She 
reached for it. 


THE LOGGER 


101 


“If — if yu come any closer, Pa, I’ll throw this 
on yu as sure as there’s a hell! I’ve took yer 
lickin’s fer the last time.” But she was too late. 
As her fingers closed on the handle of the kettle, 
Old Cap brought the stick of wood down across 
one of her shoulders. 

“ God damn yu, yu would, would yu! ” He 
hurled her out into the room. “ We’ll see who’ll 
do the scaldin’.” He reached for the kettle. 
Posey screamed. Somehow in dragging it off of 
the stove, the water upset and poured all over 
the stove and streamed down upon the floor. 
Posey fled to the back of the room but he started 
for her a second time. Dizzy and sick from the 
blow he had given her, she looked about her for 
a means of escape, but her father was between 
her and the door. 

She was cornered. Hate it as she might, if she 
would save herself from another beating, perhaps 
more violent than she had ever received because 
she had attempted to fight back, she must plead. 
Crazed with drink, the sweat pearling out upon 
his forehead, her father advanced toward her. 

“Pa —oh, Pa, don’t!” she begged. “Pa, 
don’t beat me, jist this one time, Pa! Fer God’s 
sake —” 

Something about what she had said caused old 
Cap to pause. The repulsive look that came into 
his eyes was now anger mingled with contempt. 
Filled with disgust, for an instant he seemed to 
forget his first motive. 


102 


THE LOGGER 


“ Hunh — call on yer God, will yu! ” His hps 
curled scornfully. “ Yu make me sick, callm 
on yer God — They ain’t no sech thing.” Horror 
swept Posey. This denial of a Supreme Being 
was more terrible than the assault upon her. 
She too forgot his first intent. 

“ But — but there is, Pa. Ma learned me bout 

At the mention of her mother’s name Old Cap’s 
face went white with rage. 

“ Yer Ma, eh! Want tu know what she wuz 
He shrugged his shoulders hatefully. ^ An yer 
goin’ tu be jist like ’er — you bitch! 

Like the rush of water released from < the dam 
in the river when the men opened it for a splash, 
all the venom that had accumulated from years 
of cruelty from her father surged through Posey. 
And yet with this there came a certain clarifica¬ 
tion. Something momentous told her that her 
life with her father had ended. The name he had 
just called her was the key which opened the 
flume planks of her mind. She knew all too well 
the terrible definition that that word implied 
among loggers. 

Had she a gun, in that moment of blind fury 
she might have killed him. She had no gun and 
he was coming toward her again. As he had 
always done, he would try to beat her into 
submission. 

She must escape! She could not reach the 
door, but she was near enough the window. 


THE LOGGER 


103 


Snatching the nearest chair she smashed the glass 
and sprang through the particles of flying slivers 
to the ground below. 

It was still light enough outside so that she had 
no difficulty in seeing. As she fled through the 
woods she could hear her father’s curses. He was 
following her. But Posey was too fleet-footed. His 
age and his condition prevented him from catching 
up with her. He soon returned to the shack 
grunting to himself: 

“ She’ll be back. She alius does.” 

Posey did not go back. While she sped down 
the road the pain in her shoulder where he had 
struck her was so acute that it made her despair 
more bitter. However, she hurried on until she 
was certain that she was safe. After a time she 
stopped. She knew that she was far enough away 
that if she heard him coming she could dart into 
the brush. 

Posey did not know where she was going, but 
she did know that she was leaving home. The 
night air soothed her aching temples and her 
faculties began to return to her. 

She could not go to Mother McKnight, because 
her father would come and make her return home. 
In fact most any place she went, he would come 
after her. What should she do! She beat her 
breast in dismay. 

“ But — but I won’t go back to Pa if I have tu 
kill myself. I will kill myself,” she declared with 
the utter abandon of youth. Hot tears filled her 


104 


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eyes and rolled down upon her cheeks. She looked 
up into the patch of darkening sky visible against 
the deeper shadows of the forest. 

“ Oh, God, what will I do! Surely this ain’t 
life. Ain’t they somethin’ better somewhere than 
livin’ with a father that beats hell out o’ yu ever’ 
time he gits soused? ” In the midst of her misery, 
for some strange reason, she recalled Mother 
McKnight’s words that day when they sat in her 
cozy little parlor: “ This is the kingdom of man 
kingdom of man. ’ ’ Her heart wretched and forlorn, 
Posey symbolized the community, the forest, 
the whole narrow world which was within her 
radius by her own grievance. 

“No. No. No It ain’t a kingdom! ” she cried. 
“ It ought o’ should be, but it ain’t — It’s a hell 
hole! ” 


BOOK II 

THE GREAT URGE 


I 





CHAPTER IX 


The moment David Duncan Alden, Junior, set 
his eyes on Posey Murry it was most emphatically 
a case of love at first sight. Dunny did not question 
Posey’s race, color or previous servitude. He 
accepted her, and from all appearances, gladly, for 
what she was. He kicked his small heels together, 
crowed, and made a dash for her mop of flaming 
hair. 

It might have been this mop of flaming hair, 
glowing like a torch, which attracted him at once. 
Yet it might have been that, regardless of his brief 
age, which could not quite boast a full calendar 
year, young Duncan had a mind of his own and 
recognized a kindred spirit in this girl with the 
glowing hair and the midnight-black eyes. 

Posey came upon the baby the next morning 
after she had so unauthoritatively taken up her 
abode in the Alden home. While he lay sleeping 
peacefully in his crib the night before, he knew 
nothing of the forlorn little creature who had come 
bravely to his father’s house at a late hour and 
looking into his mother’s cold eyes had said: “I — 
I heard yer hired girl left, Mis Alden. Eve come 
tu take ’er place.” 

As if some unseen friend had heard her cry out 
there in the darkness and led her to safety, Posey 
107 


108 


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had thought of Alden and had come straight to 
him for help. He was the one friend who could 
shield her from her father. Too independent to ask 
for help, she had posed as a maid. 

Mrs. Alden still slept. She had told Posey that 
all she need do that first morning, until she rose to 
show her, was to keep up the fires and bring the 
baby downstairs when he woke. Tesa had left his 
breakfast all ready prepared and had given Posey 
strict directions just how to warm his milk. 

Posey’s coming had been something of a god¬ 
send. She had been without a maid for several 
days. Rising on her dignity over some small mis¬ 
understanding, Emma had walked out one morning 
with a last retort that “Anyone that wanted to live 
in the jumpin’ off place ’til they got queer, could 
do so.” As for herself, she intended to go back to 
Chicago on the first train that would get her there! 
She would not even wait for the mail stage next 
day. She hired Aunt Sally Mullen’s husband to 
drive her to town in his rickety old buckboard. 

“ Laws-e-e, must o’ wanted to go bad enough,” 
said Aunt Sally. “ Paid Lym ten whole dollars in 
advance for gettin’ ’er there.” 

Posey waited in silent awe for Dunny to awaken. 
She was curious to see the Alden baby. She was 
not well acquainted with babies of any sort but, 
from what Aunt Sally had told her, she believed 
that little Duncan Alden was an exceptionally 
attractive infant. She was eager for the proof of it. 

When she picked him up and bore him down- 


THE LOGGER 


109 


stairs, Posey felt as thrilled as a bashful young 
lover after his first kiss. He clung to her confi¬ 
dently, and the touch of his warm little body 
against hers filled her with a new and heretofore 
unknown joy. She carried him into the kitchen. 
Sitting down before the range she held him while 
she fed him his breakfast, a task which was by no 
means an easy one to perform. Several times he 
grasped his bottle and swung it threateningly in 
the air. Posey rescued it and twice he dared to 
throw it upon the floor before she learned that she 
could not trust him to manipulate it alone. 

The bottle finished, he lay back contentedly 
upon her arm. Posey studied his little pink and 
white face, still flushed from sleep, his large grey 
eyes so like his father’s. She smiled down upon 
him and his eyes twinkled. 

“ Gee, kid, b’lieve you an’ me’s goin’ tu hit it off 
purty good,” she confided. Dunny smiled his 
agreement to this. Posey frowned seriously. 
“ I’m sure in a most awful fix. I had the nerve tu 
tell yer mother last night that I’d come tu be ’er 
hired girl — ’er maid. I was su mad then that I 
didn’t ’member that I don’t know nothin’ ’bout 
work. I wouldn’t go back fer nothin’ in the world, 
but now that I’m here — Lordy Moses, I’m jist 
scared tu death! I’m as scared o’ yer mother as ole 
Paddy Higgens is scared o’ ghosts. Aunt Sally tole 
me long ago how perticular she is—” Posey 
sighed. “ Geemently whiz, an’ me not knowin’ the 
first damn thing ’bout nothin’—” Posey bit her lip. 


110 


THE LOGGER 


“ I got tu cut this cussin’ ’er she’ll send me back 
tu my ole man. If she did, it ’ud serve me right—” 

While Posey continued Duncan crowed merrily 
and, watching her lips, tried to twist his own around 
to form the words she said. They had an amaz¬ 
ingly pleasant visit for the first time and a promise 
of many more just like it. 

At ten o’clock Aunt Sally Mullen came in. She 
was cooking at the Aldens’s; at least until they could 
get someone else. Finding Posey in the kitchen 
with the baby on her lap, Aunt Sally was very 
much surprised. 

“ Well, fer the love o’ the Lord, Posey, what you 
doin’ here? ” 

Posey looked up at her frankly. 

“I’m goin’ tu work fer Mis Alden.” 

“ What! ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Fer how long? ” 

“ Ferever.” 

Aunt Sally looked at her dubiously. 

“ What’ll yer pa say? ” 

Posey’s eyes flashed. 

“ Don’t give a — a — a care what ’e says.” 

Aunt Sally eyed her narrowly. 

“ What’s matter ’ith you an’ yer pa? ” 

Posey did not reply for a moment. 

“ Nothin’,” she said presently. 

“ I know better. You wouldn’t leave yer pa fer 
nothin’. He’s gone an’ got drunk an’ licked yu 
agin’ — ” 


THE LOGGER 


111 


Posey was silent. Tears sprang to her eyes, but 
she forced them back. Aunt Sally noted this and 
did not urge her further. Taking out a long 
gingham apron from the basket she had brought 
with her, she tied it about her ample waist. 

“Well, I’m glad it had to come at last,” she 
said, as she began to move about the kitchen. She 
lifted a lid and looked into the stove. She gave the 
fire a poke. “ I been lookin’ fer yu to leave home 
fer a long time.” She did not look toward Posey 
as she picked up several sticks of wood from the 
woodbox and put them upon the blaze. She placed 
the lid back on with a clatter and then turned to 
Posey. “ Mis Alden’s awful strict — I want tu tell 
yu that ’fore yu begin — but she’ll learn yu a heap. 
An’ if you’ll mind ’er she’ll make a woman out o’ 
yu.” 

Posey helped Aunt Sally put out the daily wash. 
She pared vegetables and assisted with other 
preparations of the noon meal. 

When Tesa came down she wore a negligee; the 
most beautiful garment Posey had ever seen. She 
could not refrain from stealing covert glances at 
the soft pale-blue gown with its broad satin sash 
and the fine lace at the wrists and throat. She 
trembled at this loveliness and became conscious 
of her own shabbiness. 

She helped Tesa with the baby’s bath; running 
here and there on errands; the castile soap, 
another towel from upstairs, the talcum powder, a 
fresh bib. 


112 


THE LOGGER 


Posey was astounded that such a tiny person 
could require so much waiting on. However, she 
had immediately become a willing slave to Dunny, 
and every step she took was like fleeing upon wings 
of joy. Even when he twisted up his little face and 
howled resentment because he could not spend the 
day in his bathtub, she was not disappointed or 
disillusioned in him. 

“ Don’t s’pose the poor little devil knows any 
better,” she concluded to herself. 

Taking Posey upstairs, Tesa searched about in a 
closet until she brought out a worn but clean and 
mended dress that Emma had left behind. She 
handed it to Posey. 

“ I think perhaps this will fit you.” Posey put it 
on. The dress was quite large for her, but it 
answered the purpose. “We will send to town and 
get you some dresses,” Tesa added. She looked 
critically at Posey’s hair, which she had tried to 
comb as neatly as she knew how that morning. 
“ You will be all right until the cleaning is done, 
but right after lunch you must get into the tub and 
clean yourself from tip to toe. I’ll give you some 
shampoo for your hair.” Posey looked up at her 
eagerly. 

“ But — but my hair ain’t su awful dirty, Mis 
Alden. An’ I’ve been keepin’ my neck an’ ears 
clean since —” She hesitated. “ Fer quite a long 
while now —” The seriousness of her face amused 
Tesa. She suppressed a smile as she looked down 
into Posey’s beaming eyes. 


THE LOGGER 


113 


Before Posey went to work she decided it was 
the best plan to have an immediate understanding. 

“ I’m most awful dumb, Mis Alden. I don’t 
know nothin’ ’bout workin’ fer a woman su 
perticular as yu be — but — but I’m willin’ tu try 
tu do anything yu want tu learn me.” 

“ You must say teach,” Tesa unconsciously 
corrected. 

“ Anything yu teach me, then —” 

Tesa nodded. 

“ That is better. If you are willing to learn, that 
is all that is necessary.” 

When Posey had gone off downstairs Tesa 
wondered why she had consented to take Posey in 
when she had come to them so unexpectedly the 
night before. Now she reprimanded herself for 
having done so. 

“ Heavens, perhaps I have gotten myself into a 
dreadful dilemma,” she thought, as she stopped a 
moment before her open window and looked off 
toward the horizon of the forest. “ Who knows? ” 
She looked absently down at a robin swinging on 
the wind-blown limb of a bush nearby. Neither 
of us could get any information out of her last 
night. She was in trouble, but she would not talk 
of it. Dave thinks, from what he Jias heard, it 
must have been with her father. Of course, he was 
all sympathy at once and insisted that we should 
give her refuge. Somehow I don t feel right about 
it; if for no other reason than because she is such 
raw material.” 

Tesa left the window and was busy for a time 


114 


THE LOGGER 


arranging clean lingerie in her dresser drawers. 

“ Dave gloats in the raw material of these juggle 
people. Sometimes I really believe he prefers 
them. He seems to think he is going to work 
wonders with them.” Tesa sighed deeply. “ Oh, 
why did I ever make the mistake to marry a man 
of this type? Father and Mother were right. They 
saw my mistake and tried to break off the engage¬ 
ment before we were married. They wanted me to 
marry Horace Wainright.” She looked about her 
in dismay. “ Now if I had married Horace, 
instead of being away out here at the end of the 
earth, I would still be in Chicago and on such a 
basis socially and financially as I was before my 
marriage. As it is — Oh, dear—” 

• Tesa dropped miserably into a chair. 

“ Dave actually admitted that he was glad 
Father lost everything and we were put upon our 
own resources. How horrid of him! She clenched 
her hands tightly together. ‘ ‘ If Father and Mother 
only knew how wretched I am! I tried to keep up 
for their dear sakes and strove to assure them, 
before I left, that I was really glad to come West 
with my husband. But even then how I longed to 
throw myself into their arms and cling to them! ” 
Tesa rose and paced up and down the room for a 
time. 

“ I do not love Dave. I don’t! I don’t! Even 
his kindness repulses me. But what am I to do? 
What a miserable situation! Married to a man you 
do not love and to have one child by him and soon 


THE LOGGER 


115 


another to be —” There came a tap on the door. 
Tesa turned. “Yes.” 

“ Mis Alden, I did ever’thing yu tole me tu do. 
What do yu want did next? ” 

Tesa tried to collect her frenzied thoughts. 
What did she want done next? 

“You may scrub both porches and the steps,” 
she returned hastily, “ and rake the back yard.” 

“ All right, Mis Alden.” Posey’s heavy foot¬ 
steps could be heard clumping down the stairs. 

“ ‘ What do yu want did next? ’ Such English!” 
Tesa frowned. “ Heavens, that alone is madden¬ 
ing. These people up here seem to try to make an 
effort to see how ridiculously they can speak.” 
She paused. “ And Dave thinks I am going to rear 
our children in this atmosphere. Never! ” 

When Tesa went downstairs she was horrified by 
the mis-arrangement of the living room. She had 
told Posey to do the dusting and place everything 
back in order. It now appeared as if Posey had 
intentionally picked up each article and put it in 
the wrong place. At noon when Alden came in 
from the woods Tesa told him of it. 

“ But this is just the beginning, Tesa. You will 
have to give the child time. Remember she does 
not know the first word of law and order ’ ’ 

Tesa’s eyebrows lifted. 

“ One need not be told that.” 

Alden resented the irony of her voice. 

“ You must have patience. Posey does want to 
learn.” 


116 


THE LOGGER 


Tesa shrugged. 

“ Why should I have patience? What do I owe 
this crude, uncultured child? ” She lowered her 
voice to make sure she would not be heard. 

Alden was silent a moment. 

“ I suppose no more than any of us owe our 
fellowmen.” 

Tesa’s lip curled. 

“ You are referring to the eternal question: ‘ Am 
I my brother’s keeper? 

Rocking back and forth on his heels and toes, 
Alden smiled. 

“ Possibly.” 

This provoked Tesa. 

“ I do not feel obligations so keenly as some.” 

A painful look came into his eyes. 

“ I have noted that, Tesie — ” 

Ignoring this, she went on: 

“ There are some things one owes to oneself.” 

He nodded. 

“ Most assuredly, dear.” 

“Is it not enough that I am obliged to live 
among these crudely speaking and crudely living 
people, without having to come into personal con¬ 
tact with them? ” 

Alden turned toward the dining room. 

“ Oh, come, Tesie, let us not go into that again. 
I am famished and I must eat and get back to 
camp. I should have eaten at the cookhouse, but 
I had to come over on an errand.” 

Through the dining-room window they could see 


THE LOGGER 


117 


Posey under a maple tree in the back yard. She 
was beside Dunny, who sat in his buggy and looked 
about him with a satisfied air. Alden smiled, and 
could not conceal his pleasure at the picture Posey 
made as she stood looking worshipingly down upon 
the baby. He turned from the window and moved 
toward the table. 

“ She and Dunny seem to be getting along 
swimmingly. If for nothing else, Posey will be a 
great help in the care of him — ” 

They sat down and Tesa began serving the 
salad. They ate their lunch in silence. 

Aunt Sally had gone out to sit down a moment 
on the back steps. It was hot and stuffy in the 
kitchen. Posey drew the baby buggy over to the 
porch and sat down beside her. She jerked a 
thumb toward the dining-room window. 

“ Why don’t we eat with them? ” 

Aunt Sally looked at her as if shocked by her 
ignorance. 

“ Hired help never eat with the people they’re 
workin’ for.” 

This seemed an incredible surprise to Posey. 

“Why?” 

“ ’Cause they’re not big bugs; they’re servants.” 

“ Yu mean servants ain’t good as big bugs? ” 

“Well, in a way they ain’t — no. If yer a 
servant yu ain’t got no money. An’ if yu ain’t got 
money yu ain’t a high-muckamuck. See? She 
looked at Posey critically. 

Posey shook her head. 


118 


THE LOGGER 


“ No, I don’t see.” 

“ Mother McKnight told you how they do in 
big cities — them high-toned, way-up people —” 

“ Yes, but — ” Posey was sorely puzzled. 

“ But wdiat? ” 

“ Some way I didn’t think Mr. Alden was like 
that.” 

Aunt Sally sniffed. 

“ Maybe, he ain’t — but Mis Alden runs this 
house.” 



CHAPTER X 


Loggers, like homing birds, follow the same 
flock. The Alden Logging Works was not operating 
many months before the “ old timers ” began to 
appear and hit Tim up foy a job. Like homing 
birds they also have a leader. Tim McAvoy was 
the leader of these men. Wherever Tim went, the 
old timers went. 

Tim had been foreman for a company which, 
some months before Alden started up, had closed 
down because of lack of funds. This had scattered 
the old bunch. They had gone hither and yon. 
Some to the upper Humptulips, some went over on 
the Wishkah and others even migrated as far as 
Puget Sound to work in camps near Seattle and 
Tacoma. 

But even in deep timber sections news travels 
fast. It was not long before the old crew began to 
drop in one by one. Among the first were old Dan, 
the cook, Alvin, the teamster, Frank Jerome, Sky 
Pilot, Hoggens, the poet. Then came Johnny 
Moran, Happy Lenon and Claude, Buck Nevin, 
George Albers, known as old Sours, and Mother 
Molly a man of large proportions who got his 
name from being an adept with a needle. 

Preferring to live alone — which was another 
reason for his being labeled with a feminine nick- 
119 


120 


THE LOGGER 


name — he would not live in the bunkhouse with 
the men, neither would he share his shack with 
another — Mother Molly spent all his leisure 
hours embroidering artistic designs upon doilies, 
sofa pillows, bureau scarfs and bed spreads. These 
articles, worked in gaily-colored silk thread, were 
the talk of the women folk for miles around. 

There was a group of the older men who had 
followed logging from its earliest infancy in the 
West, to the present. Among these were Frank 
Hymer, Paddy McTigh, Jim McGovern, Mike 
Higgens and a number of others who boasted of 
remembering the great forests of western Wash¬ 
ington when they stood unblazed from the 
Canadian line to Portland, Oregon, and from 
Easton to the Coast. 

“ Them were the days,” they often said reminis¬ 
cently. “ You fellers kick ’bout yer grub now. 
Hell, we thought we was lucky then if we had a 
little salt pork an’ boiled beans under our belt. 
Maybe we had bread an’ spuds an’ maybe we 
didn’t. Fresh meat was a thing unknown unless 
some lad would kill a deer or an elk. You young 
fellers don’t know the first real thing ’bout 
loggin’. 

“ Logged then with a capstan an’ horses an’ bull 
teams, wheels an’ sleds. Thought we was cuttin’ a 
great splurge. You now with your big donkey 
engines! Sometimes two or three of ’em! ” Their 
lips would curl disdainfully as if they envied 
progress or else coveted the good old days. 


THE LOGGER 


121 


These older men lived in the past. Scarcely an 
evening went by that they did not get together in 
the bunkhouse after slipper and go over old 
remembrances. 

Paddy McTigh and Jim McGovern had worked 
as “ pardners ” away back in Michigan before 
America knew the promise of the great virgin 
forests of the West. Sucking at his old corn-cob 
pipe, or a clay pipe if he could get it, Paddy would 
give his old “ pardner ” a slap on the back as a sort 
of introductory announcement that they were going 
back into the old times, when they were two stal¬ 
wart young Irishmen who could hold their own 
with the biggest husky in the woods. 

“ Do yez remimber, Jim, the time I come so near 
losin’ me leg an’ yez grabbed me jist ’fore the log 
hit me? ” 

Jim’s watery eyes glistened like sunshine on a 
dewdrop. 

“ Could I iver fergit the toime, Paddy? ” 

While they continued, Frank Hymer, sitting 
quietly by, would edge in an occasional word. 
Mike Higgens, with a face which substantiated the 
Darwinian theory, joined these reminiscences with 
childish zest. 

Paddy McTigh and Jim McGovern’s friendship 
was not always smooth sailing. On religious 
matters they differed vastly. Paddy was a North 
of Ireland Protestant. Jim was a South of Ireland 
Catholic. Paddy, being the best talker, always won 
out in their religious arguments. But he never 


122 


THE LOGGER 


changed Jim’s religious views. Ordinarily the 
matter remained suspended between Paddy’s 
struggle to win Jim over and Jim’s determination 
that he was not going to be won. The hottest 
arguments usually rose when some one had come 
in from town with a fresh supply of old Taylor. 

True to his companion’s prophecy, Claude 
returned to town, several weeks after his departure, 
that morning. Claude was stone broke, but he had 
managed to bring in a few quarts of liquor. Frank 
Jerome, also absent for nearly a month, had 
returned on the Humptulips stage the same 
evening with Claude. Between the two of them 
there was a goodly supply of whiskey that night. 
Before long it began to look as if the crew would run 
about fifty per cent short the following day. 

Fortunately Tim appeared upon the scene in 
time to save the situation. Tim knew how urgent 
the work was right at that particular moment. 
There was an especial order to be gotten out and 
they would not get it out any too soon if every man 
put in full time. As soon as he entered the bunk- 
house he saw what was going on. 

“ Here, you fellows, lay off on that stuff. Ever' 
fellow in this camp’s got to be on the works to¬ 
morrow; big head or no big head — ” 

Paddy McTigh and Jim McGovern were doing 
most of the drinking. Even then they were indiffer¬ 
ent to their foreman’s demands. They behaved 
like a pair of reckless boys. While Tim was talking 
to the filer, Paddy turned to Jim. 



THE LOGGER 


123 


“ Jim McGovern, I like yez.” Paddy put an 
arm around Jim’s neck and gripped him as if Jim s 
neck were a lamp-post. “Yez are a good ole stiff, 
Jim. Only yez come from the South o Ireland an 
yez don’t think right.” Paddy shot a covert glance 
at Tim. Tim’s back was turned. Paddy passed the 
old Taylor to Jim. “ Now, Jim, ’ave another 
drink.” He lowered his voice. “ I’ll give yez a 
drink because I know I could always have a drink 
off o’ yez.” He reached over and patted the bottle 
affectionately. “ I paid Claude a dollar six bits fer 
that, Jim, but yez are welcome to a drink of it — 
What’s yours is mine an’ what’s mine is me own.” 
Paddy laughed boisterously at the repetition of the 
old jest. 

With a rapid glance at Tim, Jim tipped the 
bottle to his lips and prepared for a long swig of 
Paddy’s old Taylor. Paddy grasped at it greedily. 

“ ’Ere, ’ere, Jim! Fer the love o’ the Virgin 
Mary; I said yez c’d ’ave a drink. I didn’t say yez 
c’d ’ave it all.” As he took the bottle away, Jim 
looked slightly wounded. 

“ Didn’t ye jist git through sayin’ that ye knew 
ye could always git a drink o’ me, Paddy? ” 

“ I wouldn’t be askin’ yez fer the whole bottle, 
Jim.” 

Jim’s features softened affectionately. 

“ But ye could ’ave, Paddy.” 

“ No! ” 

“ Ye bet ye could. I’m the best fnend ye got, 
Paddy, an’ ye don’t know it. That’s why I want 


124 


THE LOGGER 


ye to git right agin with the Holy Father, Paddy. 
Ye’re sorry, Paddy, the way ye talked there while 
ago, ain’t ye? Ye know that if yer poor ole mother 
knew the way ye was talkin’ tonight, she’d turn 
over in her grave. I — I wouldn’t blame ’er. Fer 
I don’t think much of a man that’ll turn from ’is 
church an’ the teachin’s o’ his childhood— ” 

Paddy resented this. He looked sternly at Jim. 

“ Jim, yez ’ave gone far ’nough. Ever’ time yez 
gits a few drinks in yez, yez gits brave an’ starts 
arg’ein’. I want to tell yez right now that we’ve 
arg’ed as fer as we’re goin’ to arg’e.” Paddy gave 
Jim a shove with his elbow. “Now git away from 
me. I feel fer fight, an’ I don’t want to ’ave to 
fight wid yez agin — ” 

Jim knew that Paddy was in truth looking for a 
fight. He knew that Paddy took to fighting like 
old Ben, the line horse, took to chewing tobacco. 
Jim chuckled when he thought of old Ben following 
the men about the woods nudging them for a chew 
of tobacco. As always he changed the subject with 
a joke for a humorous remembrance. Soon Paddy 
was laughing again. 

“ Say, Jim, do yez remimber the time we was 
talkin’ on the same question there in the Log 
Cabin down in Hoquiam? ” Paddy said presently. 
Jim sighed. This night his effort was in vain. He 
made no reply. Paddy continued. “ We was 
settin’ by the stove. The bartinder, a young buck, 
thought ’e was ’avin’ a pile o’ fun 'out ’n us — 
Well, remimber we got to fightin’ an’ in the tussle 


THE LOGGER 


125 


we knocked the stove over. The stove pipe flew 
apart an’ ’fore it landed anywhere it cut enough 
biscuits out’n our heads to serve with a first-rate 
mulligan; if an Irishman’s scalp would make good 
biscuits. 

“ It interfered wid the fight that time, Jim, but 
I’d already licked yez, Jim, an’ I c’d lick yez agin 
only,” Paddy looked at the stove which was 
dangerously near, “ only I don’t want no more 
biscuits cut out’n me head.” He paused and 
stretched lazily. “ Well, I’ll quit now. I’ll say 
good night to yez.” 

Tucking his bottle of old Taylor under his arm, 
Paddy rose and crossed the room. Taking off his 
shoes he rolled into his bunk. In a few moments 
he was sound asleep. Jim looked after Paddy in 
disgust. Mumbling something about “ Did ye iver 
see sich a hell uv a fella —’ ’ he too rose and 
retired. 

Alvin came in. The first person he saw was 
Frank Jerome. 

“Veil, hello, Yerome. Ven did you git back? 
Cooldn’t stay avay, coold yu? Ven yu vas goin’ 
down vid me dat day yu said dat Skikomish vas 
callin’ yu. Didn’t she vant yu after all? ” 

Jerome paced up and down the bunkhouse 
several times; jerking his long legs nervously. 
Presently he paused before the stove. 

“ Nothin’ doin’ in that burg. Didn’t have a 
decent game while I was there. Ever’body’s dead. 
No kale. Forgot all ’bout how tu play cards ” 


126 


THE LOGGER 


He was asked if he got the pair of shoes he went 
after. 

It was habitual among loggers that, when they 
could not find a better excuse to get to town, they 
claimed that they needed a new pair of shoes. 
Jerome looked guiltily down at his feet. 

“ No, I didn’t git the shoes. ’F I had I’d o’ lost 
’em. S’pose a guy c’d sleep ’round Hoquiam or 
Aberdeen with a new pair o’ shoes an’ hold ’em? ” 

Happy Lenon spoke up. 

“ I’ll say he didn’t git new shoes. He’s been 
workin’ all afternoon cobblin’ up the old ones.” 
Happy laughed. 

Jerome looked at him sullenly. 

“ Never mind, Happy, that’s ’nough out o’ 
you.” He flushed. “ I’ll soon make ’er again. An’ 
yu’ll see next time I go to town I’ll not do like I 
done this trip. Them sports ain’t goin’ to git my 
money so easy next time.” 

Alvin whistled softly. 

“ Dat’s vat ve all say ven ve coom back, 
Yerome. But ve don’t tink dat ven ve go avay. 
Ve are yust sech good sports dat ve are villing to 
‘spend our mooney at de ba’ an’ shleep in de 
ba’n.’ ” Everybody laughed at this from Alvin, 
given in his dry Scandinavian wit. 

Taking out his knife Happy picked up a stick of 
kindling to cut himself a toothpick from it. 

“ Goin’ down there myself tomorrow. Can’t 
stand ’er any longer. I want you fellas to take care 
o’ Peggy when I’m gone.” 


THE LOGGER 


127 


“ Ha — Happy an’ his cat! Why don’t yu take 
’er ’long with yu? ” he was asked. 

“ Can’t. Peggy ain’t in no fit condition to 
travel — ” This brought an uproar from those 
about him, but he continued seriously: “ Want you 
fellas to take good care of ’er.” He smiled vaguely. 
“ S’pose she’ll sleep in my bunk while I’m gone, 
but that’s all right. Anything ole Peg does is all 
right with me.” It was mentioned that he would 
make a swell father. Happy shook his head 
dismally. “ Not a chance. Can’t find no one 
that’ll have me —” 

“ Well, if Alden knew how much meat yu’re 
stealin’ off o’ the table in the cook shack, he’d send 
ole Peg an’ you both down the skid road,” said old 
Sours. 

Happy was going to reply but just then Tim 
interrupted. 

“ Say, Happy, I was out there where you was 
failin’ this morning. Wanted to move you over 
onto the other forty. I couldn’t find you — ” 

“ So ? Well, a limb fell down an’ broke my spring¬ 
board. I had to come in to the shop to make me 
another ’n.” 

This seemed to satisfy Tim. He nodded. 

“ Yeah? Well, what I wanted to tell you was 
that the timber you’re on now is runnin’ strong to 
hemlock an’ cedar. But we’re after all the fir we 
can get a hold of. So we’ll move over on the other 
forty just as soon as you fallers an’ buckers gets a 
start enough ahead. I want you to get a start 


128 


THE LOGGER 


because I’m afraid you’re goin’ to fall a tree on 
somebody.” Happy frowned as if he did not quite 
understand Tim. Tim nodded. 

“ That’s straight goods. You an’ Claude are not 
careful enough. The other day when I was in the 
woods I heard a crackin’ noise an’ looked up just in 
time to see a tree failin’. It didn’t fall a hundred 
feet away from me. If I’d o’ been five feet nearer 
I might have been hit by one o’ the limbs flyin’. 
You fellas must be more careful an’ yell ‘ Timber! ’ 
before a tree begins to fall. Give the men plenty of 
warning before it starts so they’ll have time to get 
out o’ the way.” 

Happy grinned evasively. 

“ I thought I did.” 

“ No, you don’t — Them big sports reachin’ out 
three or four hundred feet in the brush an’ knockin’ 
against other trees like a cyclone as they come 
down are too dangerous to monkey with.” Tim 
paused and studied a moment. “ I guess we’ll have 
to manage different anyway. To avoid danger 
we’ll have to keep the fallers far enough ahead; 
s’posin’ we have to put on another set to help you. 
But you go on over on the other forty, Happy, 
tomorrow. You was just kiddin’ ’bout goin’ to 
town? ” 

Happy flushed. 

“ Aw, guess so. Yep, Claude an’ I’ll hike over 
there on that other forty in the momin’.” 

Tim had a few hands of blackjack before he left. 

“ Hear ole Cap’s still raisin’ hell ’bout Posey,” 


THE LOGGER 


129 


said one of the men who was not playing cards. 
“ Says she’ll come home agin er he’ll know the 
reason why.” 

Another, who was reading in his bunk, looked up 
from his book. 

“ What’s the matter with the damned ole fool 
anyway ? Lick hell out’n the kid an’ then expect ’er 
tu stay home. But she won’t go back this time —” 

The first shook his head. 

“ Can’t tell a thing ’bout that girl. She’s so 
doggone loyal to Ole Cap —” 

Old Sours broke in here. 

“The thing that’s bother’n me a sight more ’n Ole 
Cap Murry an’ his red-headed brat, is this local- 
option business.” He was asked what it was. 
“ They’re talkin’ ’bout ferbiddin’ booze in the 
camps.” 

“ Oh, well, they’ve always dqne that,” said Buck 
Nevin. 

“ Yeah — but this is makin’ it an offense tu find 
booze on yer person or in the bunkhouses — ” 

Tim looked up from the card table. 

“ Alden is working hard on that, too, boys.” 

Every eye in the room looked at Tim sharply. 

“ The hell yu say! ” 

“ Yep.” 

“ Well, I’ll be damned! Purty soon a fella can’t 
call ’is name his own. That’s a hell of a fine thing 
to learn — ” 

“ He says it’s for the lumberjack’s own sake,” 
defended Tim. He paused in the middle of his 


130 


THE LOGGER 


game and swung around in his chair. “ 111 tell 
you, boys, we’re about to face a new era in the 
logging business. It was all right for a fella to get 
drunk an’ raise his own particular little hell with 
booze an’ fast women in the old days, but the time 
has come when we got to cut it out.” 

“ I’m damned ’f I will! ” came one vehement 
retort. “ I got a right tu git ginned up ’f I want ’a. 
An’ ’f I want ’a spend my money on the sportin’ 
women in Hoquiam or Aberdeen, that s my busi¬ 
ness. I’d like tu see the bird that’ll stop me-” 

This statement was substantiated by a half 
dozen: “ Good fer you, Bill! Yer damn tootin’. 
You got the guts. I’m right with yu! ” 

Tim calmly disregarded them all. 

“ You may be forced to. It’s for your own good, 
I tell you. And it’s for the boss’s good, too — ” . 

“ Sure! ” came a voice from one comer. If it 
wasn’t fer his good, he wouldn’t give a damn what 
we’d do.” 

Tim gave the man a reproachful look. 

“ Not necessarily. If a fella ain’t got brains 
enough to know what is best for him, his boss’s got 
a right to force some sense in him, ain’t he? It 
ain’t so easy nowadays to buy a piece o’ timber an’ 
tear into it as though they’d never be any end, like 
a man used to be able to do. They’s too much 
competition now. An’ competition means the best 
man wins. A man can’t win if he hasn’t got clear¬ 
headed men working for him. Men can’t be clear¬ 
headed with their bellies full o’ booze. 


THE LOGGER 


131 


“ Alden’s all right. They ain’t a squarer man in 
the country, a squarer shooter. He’s got to look 
out fer Alden, but at the same time he’s got the 
interest o’ us men at heart, too, now you bet! ” 

“Oh sure, he’s O.K.! ” came in a chorus. “Who 
said he wasn’t? ” 

Tim’s lips twisted into a smile, but he returned 
to his cards. 

“ No one. I was just puttin’ you wise, that is all.” 

“ Speaking of Mr. Alden,” said Hoggens, “ I 
have just completed a poem about him. I call him 
the Empire Builder. Would you boys like to hear 
it? ” His enthusiasm was too intense to note the 
bored look on the faces about him. He turned to 
Tim. “Perhaps you would enjoy it, Mr. McAvoy.” 
Hoggens was met with a volley of protests. 

“ Cheese it! Cheese it, Dreamer! Fer criminy 
sake, cut it! ” 

Tim shifted a bit uneasily. 

“Say, Hoggens, I’d like to — but, gosh, I’ve 
got to get right over to the shack. Got some work 
to do on my books tonight. Oughtn’t to stayed 
long as I have — ” Tim rose nervously. “ No, 
believe we better put it off ’til some other night, if 
it’s all the same to you, Henry — ” Without 
finishing his game, Tim fled. 

Later in his bunk, after everyone had retired, 
Hoggens lay looking out into the darkness which 
was illumined by the flickering firelight. Hoggens’s 
lips moved unconsciously. The muse was working. 
He murmured aloud: 


132 


THE LOGGER 


“ Empire builder, mighty leader of men, 

Worker of miracles, little did we think when 
You came to these virgin forests 
In this vast unknown, 

Rough and uncouth men that we are — 

We could ever claim you for our own. ...” 

Hoggens was interrupted by an angry voice. 

“ Fer the love o’ Moses, dry up er I’ll throw the 
bootjack at yu. Don’t yu think some one wants tu 
sleep instead o’ listenin’ tu that squirrel chatter? 
If yu want tu pull that stuff go somewhere where 
they’s other birds that’s got that same buzzin in 
their beans.” 

Deeply wounded, and feeling there was no place 
for art among such environment, Hoggens turned 
over in his bunk, muttering something about the 
lack of appreciation. 

“ Amen,” came a soft whisper from Sky Pilot’s 
bunk. And the two men, getting each other’s 
vibrations, went to sleep feeling that they each 
belonged to a world vastly removed from the one 
in which fate had so mercilessly thrown them. 


CHAPTER XI 


Maribel Marie Alden arrived in due time. Her 
mother had fully intended to go to Chicago for the 
occasion, but complications arose which prevented 
her from doing so. For one thing, it was somewhat 
dangerous to take her small son on such a long 
journey. Dunny was cutting teeth, and was not in 
the best of health right at that time. She knew of 
no one to whom she could intrust him. 

Deciding that, under the circumstances, the 
journey was impossible, she sent for her mother to 
come to her. This plan seemed satisfactory, and 
Tesa waited for the day when she should arrive. 
At the last moment she received a message that her 
mother had been in an accident and, receiving some 
slight injuries, it would be impossible for her to 
come west until later. 

Tesa was distracted. It required a great amount 
of comforting on the part of her husband before she 
could be made to feel that there were physicians 
and nurses in Hoquiam and Aberdeen who could 
meet an emergency of this sort. Of course, it was 
possible that they could not compare with the 
family physician in Chicago, Alden thought best to 
admit to this full-fledged Easterner who refused to 
become a Westerner. 

Tesa was obstinate about going to a hospital in 
133 


134 


THE LOGGER 


either of the towns. She preferred to stay home if 
it killed her. So, with one of the best nurses in 
Gray’s Harbor stationed in her home, and the 
engagement of the best physician, Tesa took on the 
attitude of a martyr and prepared for her death; 
which she stubbornly insisted was inevitable. 

All this was very painful to Aunt Sally Mullen. 
Over the counter of her store one afternoon she 
confided it to a neighbor. 

“ j tell you I never seen a woman in such a 
tant r um . Jist cut up somethin’ awful. An’ poor 
Mr. Alden try in’ to comfort her.” 

Aunt Sally had never been a mother. Her 
neighbor had given birth to six children. She was 
not quite so ready to criticize. 

“ Well, it seems a body ought to overlook a lot 
when a woman is in her condition 

Aunt Sally’s eyes snapped. 

“ Mr. Alden does overlook a lot. I ain’t never 
seen a man so overlookin’. I don’t care what you 
say, they ain’t no use in a woman carryin’ on like 
she does an’ her with ever’thing on earth at ’er 
beck an’ call. 

“ Look at the wimmin up here that hain’t never 
had no doctor at sech times; them that come up 
here when the road wasn’t nothin’ but a trail.” 
Aunt Sally jerked her head so vehemently that the 
pins threatened to fly out of her wisp of iron-grey 
hair. “ Them days they couldn’t git a doctor fer 
love ner money. Then these upstarts nowadays 
thinkin’ they’ve got to have ever’thing —” 


THE LOGGER 


135 


The other woman shook her head. 

“ But Mrs. Alden doesn’t know nothin’ ’bout 
that — Them that has everything don’t know what 
it is to do without. ” 

Aunt Sally leaned across the counter and lowered 
her voice. 

“ Mis Devons, I’ve learnt a few things ’bout 
Mis Alden since I been goin’ there. One o’ them 
things is she’s too mighty awful finicky. ’Nother 
thing, she ain’t got no bit o’ use fer us Humptulips 
people. Thinks we’re all il — illiterate, she calls it. 
I overheard ’er talkin’ to Mr. Alden one time. I 
didn’t know what the word meant at the time, but 
I come home an’ looked it up in the dictionary. It 
means a person that ain’t never had no leamin’. 

“ When I found that out, it made me so mad I 
declared I wasn’t never goin’ back there no more. 
But o’ course she pays me well an’ I need the 
money.” 

The other woman nodded. 

“Yes, a body has to humble themselves in a 
sight o’ things ’cause they need the money.” 

“ Mis Alden treats poor Posey as though she 
didn’t have sense ’nough to come in out o’ the 
rain. Course,” Aunt Sally went on, “ that’s 
Posey’s affair. She seems to be willin’ to take it. 
My land sakes, I never seen a person so wild over 
anything as she is ’bout that Alden baby. He is a 
cute little fixin’.” 

When Maribel Marie was about three weeks old, 
the nurse found it necessary to return to town. 


136 


THE LOGGER 


Tesa was grieved about this. The nurse had proved 
very efficient, and it was hard to get any nurse at 
all to come up there into the woods. 

“ Oh, dear, I don’t know what I shall do with a 

stranger! ” . 

Posey was in the room at the time. She nad 
brought Tesa’s breakfast up to her. A bright 
thought came to her. 

“Mother McKnight’s a —a most awful good 
nurse, Mis Alden.” 

Tesa looked up absently. 

“ Mother McKnight — who is she? ” 

Excited, Posey licked her dry lips. 

“ ’Member I tole yu ’bout Mother McKnight? 
It’s her that Mr. Alden calls ‘ the little woman who 
lives by the side o’ the road an’ is a friend tu 
man— ’ ” 

Tesa smiled tolerantly. 

“ What sort of person is she? ” 

“ Mother McKnight? Why, she’s jist the most 
awful grandest person in the world! ” 

This somewhat amused Tesa. 

“ Suppose you go over this afternoon and ask her 
to come to see me. Tell her if she will come, I will 
have Mr. Alden send the buggy over for her. It is 
quite a walk, isn’t it? ” 

“ Yes, most two miles, an’ Mother McKnight 
has rheumatism so bad that it’s hard for her to take 
long walks.” 

Tesa dropped two lumps of sugar in her coffee 
and stirred it about with her spoon. Posey watched 


THE LOGGER 


137 


the grace of her hands as they moved daintily over 
the tray. Something about it thrilled her deeply. 
She found herself forgiving Tesa for her numerous 
scoldings, and the harsh things she so often said to 
her. 

Regardless of the difficulties, Posey was quite 
content in the Alden home. She made every effort 
to try to do her work right, and cared for the Alden 
baby with unceasing devotion. 

Posey was beginning to look upon David Alden 
as something of a god. His kindness and patience 
with her for the things she did not know, yet was 
so eager to leafn, seemed to make up for all that 
she had lost in life heretofore. 

She delighted in looking at Alden. The expres¬ 
sion of his kind eyes, the way his hair swept back 
from his brow, the soft, yet firm, pressure of his lips, 
thrilled her with a pleasant sensation. Often of an 
evening while he sat reading she would sit and 
study his face. At such times she would experience 
a strange stirring within her, a joyous lifting of 
spirit like that which she felt when Dunny smiled, 
or she heard a throaty bird note out in the woods, 
or the sight of sunshine streaming through the 
window when she woke of a morning. It was all 
this and yet it was more — 

That afternoon she sped over the road to Mother 
McKnight’s in leaps and bounds. It seemed she 
could not get there fast enough. She found the old 
lady mending beside her stove in the kitchen. 
Mother McKnight was glad to see her. She was 


138 


THE LOGGER 


additionally pleased to see Posey so animated. 
Her keen eyes noted the change already wrought 
in Posey; her clean dress and nicely combed hair. 

“ Dear child, I would hardly have known you.” 
She bade Posey sit down and rest. Posey was still 
panting. 

“ Oh, Mother McKnight, there’s so many heaps 
an’ heaps o’ things tu tell yu! ” She drew up a 
chair and sat down. “I — I don’t jist hardly 
know where tu begin.” 

Mother McKnight smiled. 

“ It’s been terrible long since you’ve been here. 
But, of course, I know you’ve been busy over 
there.” 

Posey nodded. 

“ Most awful busy here lately.” She paused. 
“ Babies are sure a lot o’ work. Seems like the 
littler yu are the more work yu make. But, lis’en, 
I’ll tell yu what I come over fer.” She proceeded 
to tell Mother McKnight the nature of her errand. 
When she had finished Mother McKnight agreed 
that it might be all right if it was not for the 
loggers’ washing. What should she do about them? 
Posey waved an indifferent hand. “ They’ll jist 
have tu git along, that’s all. What would they do 
if you didn’t live here? ” She looked at Mother 
McKnight whimsically. 

“ I wish yu would come. Maybe v y’d git me 
started so’s I’d begin tu know somethin’. Aunt 
Sally thinks Mis Alden’s most awful mean tu me 
but —'but — lam dumb.” 


THE LOGGER 


139 


“ Oh, but it takes time to learn housework,” said 
Mother McKnight. 

“ Yep. But I c’n wash dishes purty good now, 
though, an’ I don’t fergit tu wrench them. Mr. 
Alden tole me I take most awful good care o’ 
Dunny. That’s what they call their baby — their 
big baby. It’s short fer Duncan.” Posey clapped 
her hands together eagerly. “ Mother McKnight, 
did yu notice I quit cussin’? ” 

Mother McKnight nodded emphatically. 

“ Indeed I did.” 

“ I ain’t used a swear word fer two whole weeks. 
Mr. Alden’s got a kind of a scheme tu help me. 
I’ll tell yu ’bout it after awhile. An’, say, another 
thing — he’s givin’ me lessons in grammer. He’s a 
awful good teacher. Don’t git mad like she does. 

Mother McKnight listened to Posey while she 
rattled on as if her tongue was run by perpetual 
motion. 

“ He lets me come in the living room — that’s 
what they call their parlor — he lets me come in 
there of an evenin’. An’, lis’en, he plays the 
graphophone fer me. Mother McKnight, if yu 
c’d only hear it! Did yu ever hear one? ” 

“ No, they didn’t have graphophones before I 
came West.” 

“ Well, yu ought tu should hear it! Oh, sa-ay! 
Why, the most grandest music! They got a lot o’ 
pieces. What I like best is some songs by a a man 
called C’ruso. Sa-ay, when I hear him sing, why 
my hair jist starts tu raise an’ I git prickly all up 


140 


THE LOGGER 


'an’ down my back. It’s jist su grand that I feel 
kinda sick when I hear him. 

“ They’ve got other pieces they call grand op’ra. 
An’ b’lieve me they are grand. Why, I c’d jist 
lis’en to ’em forever —” 

Mother McKnight paused in her mending. 

“Iam glad you enjoy it, Posey.” 

Posey did not see a tear in Mother McKnight’s 
eyes. Her thoughts were too intent upon what she 
was talking about. She went on enthusiastically: 

“ Mother McKnight, livin’ at Aldens’s is jist like 
livin’ in heav’n. Their house! Carpets on ever’ 
fl oor — well, course not the kitchen an’ the 
bathroom —jist awful grand furniture, real linen 
table cloths an’ napkins that are all shiny, an’ 
grand painted pictures an’ vases — an’, Mother 
McKnight, even Mis Alden’s window curtains are 
silk. Awful heavy silk that jist glistens when the 
sun shines on it— An’—an’ that bathtub! 
Posey paused breathlessly. 

“ If yu go over there, Mother McKnight, yu 
want tu ask Mis Alden tu let yu take a bath in it. 
She lets me. Mr. Alden an’ her takes a awful lot o’ 
baths. Maybe ever’ day.” Posey frowned. “ But 
how c’d they be any dirt left on yu if yu took a bath 
su often as that? I don’t blame ’em, though. I like 
it su well that I c’d jist stay in that there bathtub 
all the time an’ never git out. Think o’ the fun a 
fish must have — ” 

Posey was silent for a time. She was thinking 
intently. Mother McKnight went on with her 


THE LOGGER 


141 


mending. It was very still in the room. The quiet 
bothered Posey. It was not in keeping with her 
thoughts, which whirled like the eddies in the river. 
Presently she began again. 

“ It’s all them grand things at Mis Alden’s, 
Mother McKnight, that makes me think what a lot 
us country folks miss. Us with our ole shacks. 
Even the best people in Hump tulips ain’t got 
more’n one carpet in the house. Most ain’t got 
any.” 

Mother McKnight interrupted her. 

“ But we have this beautiful great out of doors; 
the forest and wild flowers and the birds and the 
sunshine —” 

Posey smiled scornfully. 

“When it shines—which ain’t more ’n ’bout 
two months out o’ every year. The rest o’ the time 
it’s either rainin’ er goin’ tu.” Posey was not to be 
outdone in her argument. She had been doing too 
much deliberating on the subject to be overcome 
without a struggle. 

“ Yes, if we c’d live in a tree an’ had nothin’ tu 
do but lis’en to birds sing and smell flowers, it ’ud 
be all right, but we’ve got tu live in our ole shacks 
an’ be poor an’ wantin’ better things an’ can’t get 
’em. ’Member one time yu was tryin’ tu make me 
feel better when I was mad ’cause Pa an’ me didn’t 
have nothin’ — Yu was tellin’ me somethin’ the 
Bible said ’bout pilin’ up treasures here on earth 
where moths corrupt an’ thieves take away —” 

Mother McKnight nodded. 


142 


THE LOGGER 


“ Well, since I been there at Aldens’s, seein’ their 
nice things an’ gettin’ baths an’ clean dresses that 
ain’t full o’ patches, I been thinkin’ maybe the 
world’s changed since that Bible was wrote. 
Maybe it sounds funny, but after I’ve washed 
myself in Mis Alden’s bathtub, I sort o’feel like 
I was washed inside as well as out. Bein’ clean 
kinda puffs me up an’ I feel like I was somebody. 
First thing I know I m actin different. Posey 
paused a moment and looked at Mother McKnight 
gravely. 

“ Now I don’t want tu hurt yer feelin’s an make 
yu think I ain’t always appreciated the things 
yu’ve tole me but —but, Mother McKnight, I 
know they’s a awful change goin’ on inside o’ me. 
I _ I feel different. Sometimes right in the middle 
o’ my work I have tu stop an’ even sometimes when 
I’m awake at night I — I jist say: Oh, Lord, is it 
wicked ’cause I want grand furniture an’ pictures 
an’ vases an’ bathtubs like Mis’ Alden an’ 
billions o’ rich people in the city has got — ” 

A worried look clouded Mother McKnight’s 
brow. 

“ But, Posey, you are asking the Lord for 
material wealth! ” 

Posey straightened up suddenly. 

“ But, don’t yu see, that it ain’t jist that that I 
want? What I really an’ truly want is leamin’ an’ 
fine manners an’ how tu be like Mr. Alden, inside 
an’out. A —a really an’truly way-up person. An’ 
I know it takes things like grand furniture an’ 


THE LOGGER 


143 


pictures an’ vases an’ music an’ books an’ bath¬ 
tubs tu make me like Mr. Alden — inside an’ 
out — ” 

Mother McKnight looked at her sadly. 

“ Dear child, you are so wrong.” 

Posey shook her head belligerently. 

“ Then why are the loggers like they are, an’ the 
people in Humptulips so gossipy an’ mean to each 
other? Ain’t it ’cause the loggers never had grand 
things that makes ’em drink like they do, an’ ain’t 
it ’cause the people in Humptulips ain’t never 
knowed anything better that makes ’em like they 
are?” 

“ Why, no, of course not. There are lots of 
wicked people among the rich in the cities, and the 
people of Humptulips are no more gossipy and 
mean to each other than any where else.” She 
looked at Posey thoughtfully for a moment. “ You 
have a great deal to learn, child. Some day when 
we have time, I will explain all this to you. 

Posey looked at her moodily. 

“ Well, I know this much. I know that ’fore I 
went tu live with the Aldens I was a whole lot 
more unhappy than I am now. The trees an 
flowers an’ birds didn’t help me much either. They 
jist reminded me more ’bout my own miserylike 
when I see Mis Alden’s fine clothes. Even ’er night¬ 
gowns er grander ’n any dress I ever had. Shd s got 
twelve of ’em. All lacy frilly things that I d be glad 
tu wear in the daytime. Maybe yu think I^wasn t 
’shamed o’ that ole outing flannel one o’ mine. 


144 


THE LOGGER 


Gee! ’N ’en half the time I never wore it tu home. 
Jist jumped intu bed in my underwear — Well, yu 
bet Mis Alden never seen it. I chucked it in the 
stove. She give me some ole ones o’ hers.” 

“ That was better than none,” said Mother 
McKnight. 

“ Sure,” agreed Posey. “ I asked ’er one day if 
I c’d jist have a little smell o’ the bottle o’ perfume 
she keeps on ’er dresser. She calls it eau do 
cologne. That’s a French name, she tole me. 
Mmmm, the smell of it! She let me have a little 
on my hair.” Posey rose suddenly. But here I 
am talkin’ an’ I promised to be right back.” She 
reached for her coat where it hung on the back of a 
chair. “ Then yu’ll c’m over, won’t yu, Mother 
McKnight? ” 

Mother McKnight rose and laid down her 
mending. 

“ Why, yes, I can go over and see Mrs. Alden. 
If I suit her I suppose I can stay for a while until 
she is stronger — ” 

Posey smiled up into her eyes. 

“ Gee, yu don’t know how glad that makes me!” 

Mother McKnight returned her smile. 

“ I like to make you happy, Posey.” 

Posey flung her arms impulsively about her neck. 

“ Do yu, honest? ” 

“ Of course, I do.” 

Posey was silent for a moment. Presently she 
stepped back as if she might search Mother 
McKnight’s heart better at a distance, 


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145 


“ An’ — an’ don’t yu go worryin’ ’bout me 
longin’ fer material wealth — as yu call it.” She 
lifted a warning hand. “ ’Cause that ain’t it a’ tall. 
It’s the great things inside me that I’m jist ’bout 
bustin’ with wantin’—an’ I —I still can’t help 
feelin’ that it takes fine outside things tu git fine 
inside things — ” 


CHAPTER XII 


Alden and Tesa sat before the fire one evening 
late in autumn. Outside the air was cold, and it 
was raining. Tesa had drawn the curtains to shut 
out the sight of that “ dreadful and unending 
rain.” Now she reposed quite peacefully, her eyes 
upon the blaze. Alden sat across from her. His 
attention was divided between watching the flames 
leap up the chimney and looking at his wife’s calm 
face. He noted, regretfully, that her cheeks had 
not regained color as they should since Maribel 
Marie’s arrival. 

And it was true that, since she did not die as she 
had so tragically prophesied before her daughter 
was bom, Tesa had come to assume the attitude 
of a trapped animal. However, this was merely 
outward appearance. In her heart was a blaze 
which grew more vehement as the weeks passed. 

For the time being she had acquiesced, because 
she now believed that no matter how bitterly she 
protested, her husband’s intention was to remain 
in his present environment. 

Another matter which prevented all hope of 
returning to Chicago for the present was the 
knowledge that her father had not picked up the 
thread of his business and sailed on into success 
again as she had expected. Chicago was overrun 
146 


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147 


with men who had met adversity late in life, and it 
was also full of younger and more alert men who 
were ready to take the place of those who failed. 

Under different circumstances Tesa could have 
flown to her parents and doubtless taken up her 
life among the gay whirl of society again. But as 
it was, she realized that she was quite dependent 
upon her husband. Unless some good fortune rose 
to free her from bondage •— she believed it was 
nothing less than bondage to be dependent upon a 
man she did not love — it would be wise to remain 
until further developments. 

For weeks she had been exceptionally quiet, but 
on this evening some of her old arrogant attitude 
came back to her. After all, she concluded, a great 
share of life was founded on bluff. If one gave up, 
why, of course he was lost. It was inevitable. 
She looked across at her husband. 

“ We have been west but a trifle over six 
months, Dave, yet I see a change in you already.” 
There was a hint of irony in her voice. “ What 
will it be by the time we are here six years, or 
ten? ” 

He shifted his position and threw an arm across 
the back of the divan. 

“ Is the change for better or for worse? ” 

Tesa smiled tartly. 

“ Which would you expect in these surround¬ 
ings? ” 

“ Then you mean worse? ” 

She laughed a trifle scornfully. 


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“ Perhaps.” 

Alden looked down at the floor for a thoughtful 
moment. Presently he looked up again. 

“ Come to think of it, I may have changed — 
I suppose one naturally would. 

She nodded. 

“ Most assuredly.” 

Noting the sarcastic tone of her voice, he looked 
at her keenly. 

“ But not necessarily for worse.” 

Tesa made no reply to this. They lapsed into 
silence again. She knew the significance of silence. 
She was guessing his thoughts. Her husband 
wanted encouragement. She believed she owed 
him none, or if she did, she did not care enough 
about it to make the effort. Still without comment, 
she studied him while he sat with his eyes bent 
upon the fantastic pattern of the rug. 

“ Just what do I owe him? ” she asked herself. 
“ Because one is the mother of a man’s children 
need she be indebted to him for every pursuit 
she wishes to follow independent of his wishes, or is 
it unjust that she should desire to follow her 
own pursuits? ” She studied Alden’s profile. 
“ When he was courting me, I thought I was 
marrying an amazingly unusual man. He did 
seem a contrast to the men of my set. Now I 
find he is like those others. Perhaps no man is far 
enough above his own interests to sacrifice any¬ 
thing for his wife. Perhaps a man loves you for 
just as much as you mean in the scheme of his own 


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149 


existence. After that, he draws the line. All men, 
including Dave, are that kind. There may be 
exceptions. Horace Wainright might have proved 
an exception if —” 

Alden interrupted her reflections by turning an 
appealing glance at her. She resented it. It had 
been that appeal in his eyes which had touched 
her, back in the days when he worked in her 
father’s private office. Even yet it was sometimes 
hard to resist. 

“ Tesa, if instead of this coldness all of the time, 
you could give me a bit of encouragement, it would 
be much easier. It is hard to work to the best that 
is in you, when you feel you haven’t the sympathy 
or the support of one so important as your wife. 
It isn’t the simplest thing in the world to begin a 
business of this kind without capital and carry it 
through safely —” 

“ I cannot see why it should matter one way or 
another, what I think.” Tesa played with the 
fringe of her gown for a moment. “You seem to 
be doing very well without me.” 

A shadow of pain crossed his face. 

“ If you only knew just how much it does 
matter! It is the struggle that is changing me.” 

She shot him an inquisitive glance. 

“ And not your associates? ” 

“You mean the men in the woods, or the differ¬ 
ent business men with whom I come in contact all 
up and down the Harbor? ” 

Tesa smiled bitterly. 


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“ I meant the men in the woods. But come to 
think of it — there is little contrast between the 
men in the woods and the men for whom they 
work.” 

Alden nodded. 

“ I agree with you. Most of these lumbermen 
got their start by working in the woods. Naturally 
there would be but a trifling difference.” He 
stooped to push a chunk into the fire. When he 
sat up again he continued: “ But it seems that 
should be greatly to their credit. Really, Tesa, I 
think they are an especially remarkable class of 
men.” 

She sighed wearily. 

“ But so uncultured! There doesn’t seem to be a 
true gentleman among them. Imagine, even some 
of the wealthier lumbermen, here on Gray’s 
Harbor, in a drawing-room in Chicago. I haven’t 
met one but would be like the proverbial bull in a 
china shop.” 

This provoked Alden. 

“ Tesa, when are you going to learn that one’s 
character, the true outlying qualities of the man, 
cannot be judged by his ability to appear well in a 
drawing-room! ” 

“ And family,” she continued, ignoring his 
remonstrance. “ Show me one, from the men in the 
woods to the very last person in Humptulips — 
and it seems very much the same among the people 
of Hoquiam and Aberdeen — who can claim any 
lineage worth while. Really, most of them seem as 


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151 


far from being thoroughbreds as that stray cat I 
found Posey feeding on the back porch the other 
afternoon. I should call nearly all of these people 
mongrels, accidents—” 

Alden threw up his hands in dismay. 

“ For heaven’s sake, let’s drop the subject, 
Tesa! We will never agree on it, and it is just like 
revolving in a circle; we always come back to where 
we began. Worth while people are judged, not by 
the way they accept good fortune, but by the way 
they accept adversity. You and I are going 
through the acid test. Don’t let us have it proven 
that our fine metal, which we mistook for gold, is, 
after all, nothing more than brass.” 

Tesa shrugged. 

“ It would not hurt me if the acid test proved 
that I was brass. How many people today could 
endure such a test and come out pure gold? 
Besides this is not a day of tests. It is a day of 
indulgence and ease.” She laughed. “ How 
amusing you are, David! Your reference to those 
old similes shows how antiquated you really are, 
my dear.” 

Alden rose impatiently and began to pace up and 
down the room. Instead of becoming reconciled, 
as he had hoped that she would, it seemed that 
Tesa was becoming more bitter each day. He tried 
to overlook these sarcastic little hints that she 
dropped at every opportunity, but sometimes it 
was quite distracting. He usually tried to win her 
over by kindness, but this night he felt in no such 


152 


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mood. He had had a hard day. With his hands 
behind his back he continued up and down, the 
room. The silence between them became rigid. 
Alden detested such intervals as this. Presently 
Tesa spoke: 

“ If we must change the subject, we might talk 
of Posey. I think we must come to an under¬ 
standing regarding her.” 

Alden turned and looked at her. 

“ What about Posey? ” 

Tesa was again amused at the anxiety in his voice. 

“ How concerned you are! You sound like a 
young swain eager to hear of his sweetheart. Her 
brows lifted. “ If you were that sort, one might 
suspect you were falling in love with this child. 
She disregarded the hurt look that came into her 
husband’s eyes. “ I have decided that I shall not 
keep Posey any longer,” she went on. “ She takes 
but little interest in her work, or if she does she is 
most dreadfully stupid. I am going to send her 
home the first of the week.” She was surprised 
when Alden spoke up quickly: 

“ You will do nothing of the sort, Tesa. Posey 
remains here.” 

Tesa’s lips curled. 

“ Aren’t you taking rather undue privileges, 
even for a husband, when you say that? ” 

“ Possibly. But I mean it. Posey shall not be 
sent back to live with her brute of a father —” 

Tesa shook her head. 

“ Oh, no, most assuredly not. That would be 


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153 


cruel. I will send her out to either Hoquiam or 
Aberdeen.” 

Alden did not answer immediately but when he 
did his voice was tense. 

“ You would not be guilty of sending a fifteen- 
year-old girl without education or trade out upon 
her own resources, would you? ” 

Tesa shrugged. 

“ How strangely you speak! What do I owe 
that child? ” 

Alden returned to his seat. He leaned calmly 
toward her. 

“ Listen to me, Tesa — The first twenty-seven 
years of your life were as nearly a bed of roses as it 
is possible for one’s life to be. When you were 
Posey’s age you were attending the best private 
school that your father could find on the North 
American continent. You were indulged and 
protected from everything that was unpleasant. 
Everything came your way until about two years 
ago, when all of a sudden fate turned the wheel 
and you came up against a snag I believe that 
was for a purpose. It comes sooner or later in the 
life of every man or woman. And it depends 
largely upon the moral fiber, whether they lose or 
gain by the change. 

“ I believe the true purpose in life is to aid our 
fellow men. I cannot accept the theory of the 
survival of the fittest. I believe the fit should aid 
the unfit until all are given the opportunity to 
meet on an equal basis —” 


154 


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Tesa threw back her head and laughed. 

“ Oh, Dave, you are talking like a socialist! ” 

He scowled earnestly. 

“ If what I say sounds like socialism, then I am 
not making myself clearly understood. I am no 
more of a socialist than you are; that is the type 
of communist so often mistaken for a socialist/* 
He paused and reflected a moment. “True 
socialism is idealistic, but I question if it could 
ever be worked out. There would have to be a 
vast improvement made in the basic principles of 
human nature before socialism could be success¬ 
fully operated. It is the underlying false qualities 
of human nature which cause all the trouble. One 
might as well try to preserve a jar of already 
spoiled fruit as to expect socialism to'succeed as 
the world stands today.’ 

Tesa bore a detached air. 

“ Oh, yes — it is plainly evident, David, that 
you are one of those who will revolutionize the 
world some day — in your mind. But why go into 
politics? They always did bore me so. Get back 
to where you left off.” She lifted an arm and 
yawned daintily against the back of her hand. 
“ I believe we were discussing the fit and the unfit. 
It had something to do with Posey and me —” 

Alden nodded. 

“ Yes. Well, to come to the point, Posey has 
intelligence. She is by no means degenerate or 
feeble-minded. She is keen, alert, eager to learn. 
But the child does not know how. Moreover, she 


THE LOGGER 


155 


has never been taught the necessity of education 
and culture.” He paused a moment and observed 
Tesa thoughtfully. “ With the right training I will 
wager that Posey will develop into a woman that 
you would be proud to know, — anyone would be 
proud to know. 

“But if we sent her away as she is now, she would 
go to perdition in no time. You know human 
nature well enough, Tesie, to be familiar with her 
type. They are extreme. With the right influence 
they develop into splendid womanhood. Neglected 
they fall into the lowest type of dissolutes—■ ” 

For an instant fear crept into Tesa’s heart, but 
she quickly controlled this false emotion. She 
laughed nervously. “ It is just another of his 
‘eccentric ideas,” she thought. Aloud, she said: 

“ Oh, I think you have Posey overestimated, as 
you have everyone else in these jungles. To hear 
you talk, one would think that every person in 
Humptulips and every logger among the camps all 
up and down the river were individuals who, had 
they the opportunity, would be equal in intelli¬ 
gence to those great minds which form the bulk of 
America’s empire builders, the real doers. 

“ If one would weave a raiment of fine cloth, 
he must have the fruit of the silkworm to do so. 
You cannot make fine linen from cotton warp.” 

Alden lifted his hand. 

“ But that is a poor comparison, Tesa. We are 
not dealing in dress material; we are dealing in 
human souls. My point is the individual, himself. 


156 


THE LOGGER 


Instead of admitting that there are a few excep¬ 
tional people in Humptulips, the same as there are 
in any other community, whether it be a city or a 
village, you condemn them as a whole. You cannot 
see certain elemental qualities in Posey, which I 
know are there, but you must admit the fineness of 
Mother McKnight — ” 

Tesa nodded. 

“ Yes, Mother McKnight is exceptional. But 
see how she holds herself aloof from the common 
herd. When she must be among the others, she 
does not stoop to their level. But Posey — takes 
to them like birds of a feather. She is over with 
that horrid Aunt Sally Mullen right this moment. 
Why doesn’t she stay home, if she is the unusual 
person you would have her be? ” 

“ She is hungry for companionship. Mother 
McKnight retires early and there is no one for 
Posey to talk to. She cannot spend all her time in 
the kitchen or her bedroom.” 

Tesa studied him discreetly. 

“Oh, you pity her because she must stay in the 
kitchen or her bedroom. Where else is there for a 
servant? ” 

Alden’s eyes dropped to the floor. 

“Yes, that is just it — where else is there —” 

Tesa made a wry face. 

“ Would you have her spend her evenings with 
us? With her ears open to everything, how, 
pray tell me, could we carry on these most 
extraordinary discussions? ” She laughed sar- 


THE LOGGER 


157 


castically. “Although, I admit, since you have 
begun this dreadful moralizing, perhaps an audi¬ 
ence might somewhat control our mental gyra¬ 
tions.” She rose and yawned again. She looked 
over at Alden with an amused twinkle in her eyes. 
“ Well, since we are not going to the opera this 
evening, I thi nk I shall retire. I have had a per¬ 
fectly dreadful day. Maribel Marie spent much 
of the time fretting, and Dunny fell off of a chair. 
Most of the afternoon was taken up trying to 
console him.” Tesa made a pretense of great 
dignity. “ Really, I am quite indisposed. 

Alden rose and stood beside her. 

“ I did not quite finish what I was talking about, 
Tesa. If you would only be patient for a few 
moments longer — ” 

She turned and looked at him hastily. 

“ Oh, dear, after that dreadfully long monologue, 
didn’t you get through? ” She sighed dismally. 
“ Well, go on — ” 

“ You are right to some extent regarding those 
men over there at camp. It is true that many of 
them lack the executive ability necessary to become 
a power in the commercial world of today. But 
suppose — suppose among them there were a few 
who, had they the opportunity, could reach 
greater heights— And then besides, that is not 
just the point. The man with the executive 
ability is not the only essential power. It is just 
as momentous that every man, no matter how 
low his vocation may seem, be shown the signin- 


158 


THE LOGGER 


cance of his own station, and the relation it has in 
making up the whole. 

“The whistle-punk is the smallest paid indi¬ 
vidual in the woods, but it is just as absolutely 
necessary that he give his signals correctly as it is 
for the foreman to manage the crew to the best of 
his ability. The foreman might manage the crew 
poorly for a day and throw the company into a 
debt that would take weeks to make up. But the 
whistle-punk could give a false signal which might 
result in a half-dozen deaths.” 

“ Yes,” said Tesa, “ but what has that to do 
with your subject? ” 

“ It has this to do with it: that what I feel I owe 
these men is to help them to help themselves. In 
other words, to realize the significance of their own 
station, and what it means in the vast scheme of 
industrialism. To show them that by making the 
most of what he is doing today, a man may 
advance into what he is capable of doing tomorrow. 
While on the other hand, if he is shiftless and 
irresponsible today, there will be no tomorrow. 
He will continue in the rut to the end of his days. 
Furthermore, to prove to these men that the 
commercial leaders of every age are the men who 
made the most of each day as it came, but looked 
forward to the future with a broad vision of great 
achievement.” Alden'paused. 

“ Tesa, that is the sum and substance of our 
duty toward mankind: to help them to help them¬ 
selves. We can do nothing more. It is no more 


THE LOGGER 


159 


socialism than it is Christianity. It is no more 
Christianity than it is common sense. If I happen 
to have a keener insight to the secret of a successful 
life, then it is my duty to share this knowledge with 
my less fortunate brothers. And it is your duty to 
share what you have gotten out of life, almost 
involuntarily, with one who has been involuntarily 
cheated, as Posey Murry has been cheated.” 

Tesa was at a loss just how to meet this final 
declaration. She could make no reply. Instead, 
she smiled at him in over-sweet condescension. 
Since childhood she had been taught that this was 
the proper way in which to treat a difficult matter, 
or one in which one could not comprehend the 
meaning. A condescending smile concealed a 
world of misunderstanding. 

Her husband spoke in a strange tongue. A 
language of which, .in her narrow life, she had not 
even heard the code. For Tesa belonged to another 
world. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“ Well, fer the love o’ Pete, look what’s here! ” 

Going immediately to his bunk on the evening 
he returned from town, Happy Lenon found Peggy 
had taken up her abode among his blankets for 
more reasons than ordinary solid comfort. Rifling 
among the bedding, Happy found a half-dozen 
very recently arrived kittens. “ Say, Peg, this 
ain’t no maternity ward.” The proud mother cat 
took his scolding for deep approval and purred 
loudly. Happy proceeded to inspect the generous¬ 
sized family. 

Those who witnessed the scene were greatly 
amused. Some one teased: “ Ha, yu will give ole 
Peg privileges, will yu? ” The man laughed 
mockingly. “ ‘Yes, s’pose ole Peg’ll sleep in my 
bunk while I’m gone, but anything ole Peg does is 
all right.’ Well, she slipped one over on yu. 
Serves -yu right.” This brought an uproar from 
every man in the bunkhouse. Jerome slipped up 
to Happy, his nervous eyes gleaming with a hint of 
mirth. 

“ Lis’en, Happy, on the square, it wasn’t no 
fault o’ mine. The night she pulled the big affair, 
we all talked with that cat and tried to reason with 
’er. But, geemenally, s’pose she’d lis’en to any of 
us? She was bent on havin’ them kittens in your 
160 


THE LOGGER 


161 


bunk, an’ in your bunk she had ’em. One o’ the 
fellas got up an’ stopped up the hole in the door 
where she comes in — but nothin’ doin’. They 
wasn’t a thing this side o’ hell that was goin’ to 
stop Peg from havin’ ’er kittens where she wanted 
to have ’em. She’d made up ’er mind.” Followed 
more laughter and a dozen ayes to substantiate 
Jerome’s statement. Happy turned upon his 
tormenters. 

“ What’s the matter with you roughnecks, 
anyway! Who’s kickin’? I wouldn’t give a damn 
if she’d o’ had ’em in my hat.” He turned again to 
Peggy who, purring furiously, looked up at him 
with maternal pride in her eyes. Picking up the 
kittens one by one he held them up for inspection. 
As they squalled and wriggled in his hand, Happy 
observed them gravely. 

“ Yep, I thought so — I see they’re all in the 
family. Here’s Paddy McTigh,” he indicated 
the tiny grey fluff of soft fur. He held out a black 
and white one with the irregular marks of the 
common house cat. “ Here’s Jim McGovern, and 
here’s Sky Pilot, and here’s Dreamer,” and so on. 
When he called one of the kittens, Johnny Moran, 
he got a good-natured punch in the ribs from 
Johnny. 

Aw, say, Happy, tu hell with you an’ yer 
cats.” 

Chuckling to himself, Happy restored the 
shrieking kittens to Peggy and covered them 
fondly. He turned to Johnny. 


162 


THE LOGGER 


“ How do you like yer new side-kicker? ” 

“ Mean ole Fat? ” 

“ Yeah.” 

Johnny regarded him darkly for a moment. 

“ Sa-ay, that bird puts f himself up fer a faller. 
Gosh o Friday! Don’t think he’s ever been on a 
springboard before. He certainly don’t act it. 
If he’d lift his feet he’d be a light sawyer, but he 
clinches ’em on that board like he’d been glued 
there. But, Lord, yu can’t tell him nothin’. He 
knows it all.” 

“ Ole Slivers uset to get along with ’im all 
right.” 

“ Well, wish Slivers had ’im back again ’stead o’ 
me — ” 

Just then Claude came into the bunkhouse. His 
eyes were wide . 

“ Who yu s’pose is back? ” After several guesses 
the others gave up. “ ’Member ole Whitey that 
worked with us last winter up at Jeffries’s? The 
Swede with the violin that packed it from Sweden 
to Nome? Made a million in gold dust an’ lost 
it ’fore he’d been in the States a month — Had 
enough left to stake a pal in business in Tacoma. 
Now the pal owns half the town an’ he wouldn’t 
wipe his shoes on Whitey — You fellas surely 
remember Whitey! ” Of course they remembered 
Whitey. “ Well, he came in with Alvin tonight.” 

“ The hell yu say! ” chorused a number of the 
old timers. “ Well, well! Ole Whitey an’ ’is 
violin! ” 


THE LOGGER 


163 


“ Ain’t changed a bit neither. Same ole 
Whitey.” 

“ Same ole Whitey, eh? ” 

“ Yep. Come in drunk. He’s took his last, 
though. You know how it always was with him? ” 

Smiles and much shaking of heads. 

“ Same ole Whitey all right.” 

“Yep. Same ole Whitey.” 

They had no more than finished talking of him, 
when the door opened and Whitey walked in. To 
the men he was the “ same ole Whitey ”; skin fair 
as a child’s, a nose reddened by too much drink, 
large, protruding blue eyes, a shock of prematurely 
white hair — from which he got his nickname — 
hair that stood out in stubborn disarray all over 
his symmetrically round head. He was greeted 
with great gusto. 

“ Boys, oh, boys, look who’s here! I’m damned 
if it hain’t ole Whitey. Hello, how yu stackin’ up, 
ole socks? Thought yu said yu was never cornin’ 
back. Couldn’t stay ’way from the ole gang, eh? 
Well, well, I’m damned.” 

His face glowing, Whitey stood looking from one 
to the other as he returned their greetings and the 
numerous questions showered upon him. He met 
their shouts of “ Welcome home! ” and the hearty 
slaps upon his thin shoulders, with a broad smile. 

“ Yep, I yust couldn’t stay avay no longer.” 
Whitey placed a battered violin case upon a table 
and swung his pack to the floor. 

“ How’d yu like ’er over there on the Sound? ” 


164 


THE LOGGER 


Whitey turned around. “ Eh? ” 

“ I say how’d yu like ’er over there on the 
Sound?” 

“ Bum.” 

“ No good, eh? ” 

“ Nope. After I yust vorked six mont’s, found 
dey vas a hayvire outfit. 

“ The hell! ” 

Whitey kicked his roll of blankets under the 
table out of the way and moved over to the stove. 

“ Lost all my money, too.” 

“ No? Ever’ bean? ” 

“ Yep.” 

“ Well, that was damn bad luck.” 

“ Zhu betcher life. I yust made up my mind I 
vould beat it for Gray’s Harbor agin. Said to 
meself, bet I yust git a yob somevere. At de 
employment office at Hoquiam I hear o’ dis man 
Alden. So here I is.” 

Spurred by the welcome he was receiving, 
Whitey turned his back to the stove to warm his 
thin legs, which seemed none too well clad. 
Reaching into his back pocket, he drew forth a 
box of Copenhagen snuff. Giving the usual three 
taps upon the cover he opened the box, gouged 
into it and brought up a load on the back of a 
crooked, bony thumb. Lifting it to his nose, he 
inhaled a generous snuff into each nostril. Then 
licking his thumb, he swallowed hard several 
times, shifted from one crooked position to another, 
and then looked up with a significant smile. 


THE LOGGER 


165 


“ I are ready for anything now.” He was asked 
if he still played and sang “My Wild Irish Rose.” 
Rolling his eyes about the room Whitey nodded 
emphatically. “ Yust de same as efer.” 

“ C’m on then, let’s have it tu-night.” 

Whitey swung an arm out dramatically. 

“ Zhu betcher life. I am yust drunk enough 
to-night to do my best. Zhu know I do better ven 
I’ve had a few shots.” 

“ Yer all right any ole time, Whitey, ole boy. 
C’m on, do yer damdest.” 

Whitey’s eyes rolled with pleasure, but he 
begged to be excused until his hands were warm; 
explaining that he could not play with cold hands. 
>The men agreed to wait patiently. 

“ Well, I guess we’re goin’ tu git better grub, 
now that Ole Ramrod’s gone,” said one of the men. 

“ Yep,” returned another. “ Know who’s 
cookin’ now? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Yu ’member ole Mulligan A1 from up on the 
east fork. Uset tu cook mulligan stew nine times 
za week — ” 

“ The hell! Is that who that is? ” 

“ Yep.” 

“ I thought I’d seen him before.” The man 
paused. “ Yu know what happened tu Ramrod, 
don’t yu? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Him an’ Alvin had a row. Alvin stole Ram¬ 
rod’s ole Taylor an’ the next morning Ramrod 


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caught ’im out in the yard an’ bounced the meat 
axe on his head a couple o’ times — ” 

“ Is that what happened to Alvin’s head? ” 
“Yep. He was stooped over, an’ Ole Ramrod 
fired the meat axe at ’im, an’ it just grazed the top 
o’ his head. Guess ’f ’e hadn’t been in the position 
he was in, it ’ud o’ took his head clean off. After he 
got the blood stopped, Alvin went on ’bout his 
business an’ never paid no more ’tention to it. 
’Stead o’ him gettin’ on his high horse, it was Ole 
Ramrod that was sore. Seemed tu be peeved 
’cause he didn’t make a clean killin’. 

“ He went ’round with a grouch on fer two er 
three days, an’ we all guyed ’im so much ’bout it 
that he got mad an’ quit. We’d say: ‘ Don’t yu 
know, Dan, that yu can’t get under the crust o’ a 
lumberjack’s bean? Yu ought o’ been in the woods 
long ’nough tu know that much by now.’ Then 
somebody else ’ud say: ‘ Dam wonder yu didn’t 
bust the meat axe.’ ” The man paused to laugh. 
“ Well it was too much fer Ole Ramrod. Finally he 
bunched it. ” 

“ So now we got ole Mulligan Al, eh? ” 

“ Yep. Ole Mulligan Al. Been here ever sense 
Gray dug the Harbor — ” 

“ Talkin’ ’bout ole timers,’’ said Mike Higgens, 
“ jist reminds me o’ the toime we uset to work in 
the Michigan woods.” He looked over at Frank 
Hymer who sat smoking silently. “ Remimber, 
Frank, the Frinch Canadians that they had there? 
How thim divils uset t’ ate! Remimber the toime 


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167 


they was a bet up who could ate the most biscuits? 
Well, a felley wid a name as fancy as the lace on a 
lady’s petticoat won the stake. As shure as there’s 
a God in hiven that mon ate twenty-eight biscuits. 
An’ any wan o’ thim ’ud make four o’ the ordinary 
sized biscuits — ’’ 

“ Aw, what a yu tryin’ tu hand us, Mike! ” said 
Claude. 

Mike screwed up his monkey face as he turned 
to Frank Hymer. 

“I’ll prove it be Frank.” 

Frank nodded. 

“ He’s right. I saw it myself.” 

“ An’ it was the same divils that perferred their 
pork raw,” continued Mike. “ In the winter toime 
they’d ship us out pork an’ com beef be the barrel 
from Chicago. Do ye think thim Frinch Canadians 
wanted their pork cooked? Not on yer life. 
They’d take o’ hunk of it an’ put it out in the snow 
to freeze an’ then they’d shave it off an’ eat it like 
thot. Took to it like a baby to ’is mother’s milk.” 
Not caring whether he was believed or disbelieved 
Mike went on with his story to the end. 

“ Guess the rainy season’s set in for this year,” 
said Sours. “ Good God, but I hate layin’ on my 
belly in the mud, scratchin’ a hole tu git the choker 
hook under a log! It ain’t no snap in dry weather, 
but this divin’ fer logs in the mud an’ the water 
runnin’ out o’ yer boots, boys, oh, boys. Then s 
when I wish I was back where I come from. It c’n 
rain harder in this damn country than any other 


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country in the world. They say, though, that’s 
what caused the trees tu be so big an’ so many of 
’em. 

“ I don’t care ’bout the rain so much. It’s the 
snow an’ rain together that gits a riggin’ slinger’s 
goat.” Asked when he did not like it, why he 
stayed in the woods, Sours shrugged. “ Search 
me. Guess the rain an’ mud an’ slush has soaked 
into my ole bones ’til I’m water-logged. Couldn t 
git away ’f I tried — ” 

By this time, Whitey had taken up his violin and 
was timing ’er up. Drawing the bow across the 
strings he tightened the keys until he thought he 
had the instrument in tune. However, some of 
those whose ears were more keen than his, made a 
wry face, but accepted it with good hutnor. 

“ All right, c’m on, Whitey, let ’er fly.” 

With the undaunted bravado of the untrained, 
Whitey proceeded to give the famous Irish ballad 
in a series of wild and exaggerated notes that were 
scarcely recognizable. When he had finished, he 
was met with loud applause: “ Fine! Fine! By 
gosh, Whitey ole boy, you’re there. You’re there! 
C’m on now, sing it fer us. We’ll all join in the 
chorus fer ole time’s sake. How does it go? ” 

Whitey studied a moment trying to recall the 
beginning of the song. Presently he looked up 
impatiently. 

“ By gad, I yust can’t tink o’ dat first werse.” 
His eyes rolled self-consciously; as if realizing that 
much had been expected of him and he had failed 


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to come up to his standard. ‘ ‘ But s’pose ve all sing 
de chorus an’ forget de rest.” This was sanctioned, 
and everyone who had the courage joined him, but 
Whitey’s shrill falsetto rose above the others. 

“ My vild Irish Ro-oo-o-s 
De sveetest flow’r dat gr-oo-s 
Zhu may search everyvere 
But dere’s none can compare 
Vid my vild I-ri-sh R-oo-ss — ” 

Not satisfied with singing the chorus a number 
of times, some insisted until it was sung again and 
again. They sang until they were all hoarse and 
had to stop. Someone suggested that for old time’s 
sake, they have a dance. 

“ ’Member the dances we uset tu have up on the 
east fork? ” The suggestion was gladly accepted. 

“ Sure! C’m on, let’s have a square dance. C’n 
yu still play the polka mazook, Whitey? ” 

“ Hey, what’s the matter with yu,” came a 
sharp retort. “ That ain’t no square dance. What 
we want is Turkey in the Straw er the Irish 
W asherwoman. ’ ’ 

This was met with joyous cries from the old 
timers. 

“ Bet me ole legs ain’t too stiff to dance the 
Irish Washerwoman,” said Paddy McTigh, as he 
jumped to his feet and tried himself out on a few 
steps of a clog. 

“ Git yer ladies! ” shouted Claude. Johnny 
Moran and he cleared the middle of the floor. For 


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every lady a handkerchief was tied about a man’s 
arm. 

The dance was on. The dancers bounded over 
the rough floor as if they had never known a day 
of labor. A few of them had a pair of shoes that 
were not calked. Those who did not, danced in 
their sock feet. The younger men were doubly 
amused at the older ones, who got in a variation of 
extra steps as they danced to Whitey’s half 
extemporized version of the Irish Washerwoman. 
Higgens did the calling. 

“ Right hand to your partners and alia man 
left! ” the poet directed with as great an attempt 
at dignity as if he were in a ballroom filled with 
ladies. 

They danced until someone, consulting his 
watch, discovered the hour was late; then they 
stopped and, shuffling off to his bunk, it was not 
long before every man had “ turned in ” for the 
night. 

Soon, upon the stifling air, there rose, in the odor 
of drying underwear and the inevitable smell of 
tobacco smoke and sulphur and the cuspidor, the 
composite vibration of deep guttural sounds 
issuing from the throats of the sleepers. Mingled 
with this, Alvin drove his mules in his sleep; Mike 
Higgens groaned incessantly from the aching of his 
rheumatic old bones, of which his sub-conscious 
mind would not free him; Frank Jerome played his 
everlasting game of black jack while he fought his 
frenzied nerves which never slept; Claude uttered 


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171 


endearing little nothings, perhaps to Red Rita. 
And last, but by no means least important, were 
the sleepy little squealings and nuzzling for their 
mother’s milk; Peggy and her family resting peace¬ 
fully at the foot of Happy Lenon’s bunk. 


CHAPTER XIV 


The matter of Posey’s being sent away remained 
suspended for the time being. Obviously Tesa had 
not mentioned it to her, for Posey stayed on dur¬ 
ing the late autumn and on into the winter. 

Regardless of her lack of interest in things about 
her, Tesa was planning an elaborate holiday festi¬ 
val.' She made the excuse that it was the first 
Christmas that her son was old enough to enjoy, 
and that the celebration was to be for his sake. 
Spurred on by this resolution she went into her 
preparations with an almost frenzied zest. Doubt¬ 
less the truth was that she tried to occupy each 
lingering moment so that she might forget holiday 
festivals of former years. Sometimes, pausing 
over a gay ornament which she was fashioning 
from bright-colored paper for Dunny’s Christmas 
tree, remembrance would flood her thoughts and 
hot tears would spring to her eyes. Choking them 
back, she would shake her head, and return to her 
task as if her life depended upon it. 

If she had time to spare during the intervals 
between Dunny’s attempting to crawl into the 
fireplace, or pulling the first shelf of books down 
upon himself, or threatening to wreck the entire 
household, Posey helped Tesa. 

Dunny was at the age when he took great pride 
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173 


in his skill of walking. Desiring greater worlds to 
conquer, he sought the highest and loftiest pin¬ 
nacles in the house. Countless times a day Posey 
rescued him from the top of a table (upon which 
he had climbed by the aid of a chair), the sewing 
machine, the stairs, bureaus and what not. He 
delighted, it seemed, in trying to See how near he 
could hang over the edge of whatever he happened 
to be upon and not fall off. Sometimes he did fall, 
and there followed an uproar. 

Maribel Marie, whom Dunny called “ Sissy 
Mobo,” was not a rugged baby. She seemed to 
contract all sorts of baby illnesses. She fretted 
much of the time and required a great degree of 
attention. 

If the care of the children had been her only 
duty, Posey would have gotten along very well. 
Loving them as she did, nothing seemed too pain¬ 
ful or laborious. But helping with household 
duties exasperated her. One afternoon in the 
kitchen she confided her grievances to Mother 
McKnight. She brought a resentful fist down upon 
the kitchen table until the recently dried pots and 
pans clattered noisily. 

“ I don’t see any use of it ! ” 

Mother McKnight looked at her vaguely. Her 
mind was upon the apple-sauce cake she was 
making. She had forgotten what Posey was talk¬ 
ing about. 

“ Use of what? ” 

“ This business of puttin’ every book and chair 


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right back in the place where you got it! How can 
a person always remember to dust the chair 
rounds, an’ to put down the top o’ the piano 
before you begin to sweep ? An’ beds, — oh, sa-ay, 
I won’t never learn how to make beds. Bet there 
ain’t nobody on earth works as hard to get a bed 
made, like I do Mis’ Alden’s. Why should you 
have to take ever’ last sheet an’ blanket off right 
down to the mattress ever’ day? I can’t always 
remember she wants that little narrow blanket 
tucked in at the foot of her bed — just so — ” 

Posey looked at the neat array of cooking 
implements upon the table; the yellow mixing 
bowl, the wooden spoon, the egg beater, the 
measuring cup. She watched Mother McKnight’s 
capable hands while she beat the eggs and put 
them into the mixture of flour, apple sauce, soda, 
raisins and spices. Posey sighed deeply. 

“ Mother McKnight, I don’t b’lieve I’m ever 
goin’ to be a bit of good. Ever’thing about house¬ 
work seems so hard — ” She paused to note the 
skillful way in which Mother McKnight mixed 
her cake. “ Gee, I guess you have to know a lot, 
even to know enough to make a cake — ” 

Mother McKnight looked over at her and smiled 
while she poured the batter into the well-buttered 
cake pan. 

“You mustn’t get discouraged. You will learn. 
But you must use your mind. A body must use 
their brains even to do housework well. A good 
many women think just because it’s housework, 


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175 


they can go at it helter skelter. But you’ve got to 
be systematic at this as well as anything else if 
you want to run it right. You just simply have 
to use your mind in everything.” 

Posey shook her head dismally. 

“ I don’t b’lieve I got any brains.” Mother 
McKnight made no reply to this. She was busy 
at the stove; testing the oven to see if it was the 
right temperature before putting in the cake. 
“ Anyway, I don’t b’lieve I like housework.” 
She paused a moment before going on. “ Now if all 
I ever had to do was tend to babies. I’m a awful 
good tender of babies — ” 

“ That is because you like them. You must 
learn to like housework, too.” 

Posey tossed back her head. 

“ How can I when Mis Alden’s so cranky? 
She fusses ’bout ever’thing all the time an’ wants 
me to do things her way. Now if she’d let me have 
my own way — ” 

“ But this is Mrs. Alden’s house. She has a 
right to have things done the way she wants them. 
I cook what she wants me to cook. Maybe it 
isn’t always what I want, but she is paying me to 
cook her victuals the way she wants them.” 

Posey straightened up suddenly. 

41 Well, you bet Aunt Sally didn’t. Aunt Sally 
said she didn’t b’lieve in that conglomeration Mis 
Alden calls salad, an’ all them hifalutin’ dishes. 
Said she bet that was what made Mis Alden so 
cranky ’fore Maribel Marie was born. Eatin’ 


176 


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fancy things like celery an’ olives an’ all that high- 
toned stuff she had brung in from town. Aunt 
Sally says what us folks in here eats is good enough 
fer anybody.” 

Mother McKnight closed the oven door care¬ 
fully. Brushing the flour from her apron, she 
looked at Posey calmly, but there was a firm pres¬ 
sure about her mouth. 

“ Now see here, Posey, you can’t take too much 
stock in what Aunt Sally says. If she had her 
way, everybody in the world would do as Aunt 
Sally Mullen says; which I for one will say, would 
be a mighty poor way . . . 

Posey did not hear any more. Cries from the 
upper floor sent her bounding up the stairs, three 
steps at a time. Dunny had awakened from his 
nap and doubtless had gone to his baby sister’s 
crib and also awakened her. Now the two of 
them set up an uproar. Mother McKnight smiled 
to herself when a moment later the cries had ceased 
and everything was quiet. 

Unfortunately, just a few days before Christ¬ 
mas, Mother McKnight fell ill, and had to be 
taken out to the hospital. That left Tesa without 
a cook. Alden could get no one in either Hoquiam 
or Aberdeen who would come up until after the 
holidays. Tesa went to see Aunt Sally Mullen, 
but the loggers were coming down from the camps 
and Aunt Sally was busy in the store. This pro¬ 
voked Tesa. It seemed ill-fated that she should 
be without competent help at such a time. 


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177 


To make matters more complicated, Dunny 
caught a dreadful cold, and was a little tyrant. 
Knowing so little of cooking and housework — 
and of course Posey knew less — Tesa’s nerves 
were worn to a ragged edge. 

Just before dinner on Christmas Eve she had 
asked Posey to perform some task in the kitchen 
while she went off upstairs on an errand. When 
she returned, Posey was doing the task in just the 
opposite way to that in which she had been in¬ 
structed. Tesa flew into a rage, and called Posey 
stupid and illiterate, adding that she was positive 
now that she would never learn anything. 

Posey, too, worn from the strain of the past 
several days, had come to the point where she 
could endure Tesa’s reproof no longer. Throwing 
down the paring knife she held in her hand, she 
turned on Tesa vehemently. 

“ Yu mean tu tell me I’m stupid an’ illiterate, 
yu white-faced city huzzy! ” Posey dropped back 
into her old misuse of English. Jerking viciously 
at her apron strings, she threw the apron on the 
floor and looked down at it as if she was going to 
jump on it. But, her eyes black with fury, she 
looked up at Tesa again. Posey shook her fist. 
“ I’m through with big bugs an’ all this here high 
education stuff—’Fore I’d put up with this any 
longer, I’ll see myself in hell first.” Her mouth 
twisted into a grimace. “ I’d rather be a logger a 
million times an’ up tu my belly in mud than 
this_” She swept the immaculatejkitchen with a 


178 THE LOGGER 

contemptuous glance, as if Tesa Alden’s kitchen 
was representative of the entire order of plutoc¬ 
racy, and she wished it understood that she would 
have no more of it. Then flying to the door, 
Posey wrenched it open. 

Tesa was alarmed. 

“ Posey, where are you going? ” 

“ I’m goin’ over tu Mr. Alden an’ git a job in the 
woods as whistle punk, that’s where I’m goin’.” 
She cleared the back steps in two jumps. 

Posey was halfway home before she realized the 
direction in which she was running. And with this 
realization came regret for her hasty decision. 
Remembering it was Christmas Eve, she was 
about certain in what condition she would find her 
father. Oh, why did this dreadful thing have to 
happen, this night of all nights! 

When she came within view of her home, she 
saw the old shack was lighted. A terrible fear and 
trembling seized her. She almost resolved to turn 
back, but the memory of the scorn in Tesa Alden’s 
eyes spurred her on. She bolted in the door. 

Her father was not alone. Paddy McTigh, Jim 
McGovern, Frank Hymer and Mike Higgens sat 
with him about the stove. A strong odor of 
whiskey and tobacco smoke prevailed throughout 
the room. A bottle of Sunnybrook whiskey, a half 
dozen tin cups and water glasses, and a two-quart 
tin of smoking tobacco were upon the table within 
reach of the men. 

When Posey entered they all looked up in sur- 


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179 


prise. The other four greeted her, but her father 
looked down sullenly. Noting this, Paddy McTigh 
spoke up quickly: 

“Ah, ha, I tole Ole Cap yez w’d be cornin’ over 
to spend Christmas wid ’im, Posey. He said yez 
w’d be spendin’ it at the Aldens’s an’ thim wid their 
swell Christmas an’ I said not a* tall a’ tall. If I 
knows Posey Murry to be the girl I thinks she be, 
she’ll be spendin’ it wid her father.” He smiled 
over at Old Cap to see what impression he had 
made, but there was no response. Old Cap acted 
as if he had not heard a word. Paddy continued: 
“ We all decided we w’d spend a quiet Christmas 
up in the woods this year. The rest o’ the b’ys are 
all in town, but we’re goin’ to stay wid Ole Cap an* 
yez, Posey.” Paddy paused. His face became very 
grave. “ We’re not drinkin’ this Christmas, 
Posey — ” 

Frank Hymer was at the table pouring whiskey 
into a glass. 

“ No, it’s to be a dry Christmas,” he said as he 
emptied the contents of the glass down his 
wrinkled throat. 

Although his tongue was already thick, Mike 
Higgens echoed Frank Hymer’s words. 

A trifle sick at heart, Posey pointed to the 
bottle. 

“ Yes, that looks like it.” 

“ Oh, that wee drop counts fer nothin’,” said 
Paddy, “it’s jist that we’re not goin’ to git 
tipsy.” 


180 


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“ It ain’t th,at we ain’t got enough — ” Frank 
Hymer’s watery old eyes turned eagerly toward a 
gunny sack filled with bottles standing in the back 
of the room. “ Got ever’thing yu c’n think of in 
there.” He turned to Posey again. “ Eight quarts 
o’ ole Taylor, a dozen bottle o’ Coburger— ” He 
smiled. “ Sort o’ sprung ourselves on that swell 
brand o’ beer, but Christmas only comes twice a 
year — once I mean — an’ then I think they’s 
some Holland Dry gin an’ some port an’ — an’ 
well a little o’ most ever’thing.” He made an 
effort to straighten up proudly. “ But we ain’t 
goin’ tu git drunk. Jist got that to prove to our¬ 
selves that we c’d have it ’round tu make it seem 
kinda Christmasy an’ still leave it alone.” He 
looked at the other four. “ Am I right? ” 

Paddy McTigh nodded emphatically. 

“ Yez are always roight, Frank.” Paddy turned 
to Posey. “ Come on, come on, Posey, what are 
yez so quiet ’bout! ” He indicated a chair. “ Sit 
down an’ make yerself to home. We’re all mighty 
glad to see yez.” He tried to catch Old Cap’s eye, 
but the other avoided them all. He was still sullen. 

Old Cap was wondering why Posey was there. 
He could not believe that it was through any love 
for him or any sentiment regarding her home, but 
his mind was too clouded to reason the matter out. 
However, he did note that Posey had changed. 
Deep down in his consciousness something told 
him it was a change for the better. It both pleased 
and angered him. 


THE LOGGER 


181 


So the father and daughter sat during the long 
evening that followed. The gulf which had always 
been between them now widened to an impassable 
breadth. Posey wondered why. 

Looking upon his face, flushed and unnatural 
from the whiskey he was drinking, she could not 
refrain from feeling a pang of regret that he should 
be as he was. A sob rose in her throat. 

“ He’s all I got in the world, an’ I’m all he’s got. 
We — we could be something to each other if it 
wasn’t fer — whiskey — ” 

In spite of the fact that it was going to be a dry 
Christmas, it was not long before the supply of 
liquor in the sack began to diminish. As if they felt 
it a religious rite and, as they said, went with the 
Christmas festivities, they emptied bottle after 
bottle. 

After a time, it was proposed that they sing 
Christmas carols. Had it not been so sacrilegious, 
the sounds of their cracked old voices might have 
been humorous. But the very action set Posey to 
thinking. She watched them dimly. Her thoughts 
were remote. 

“ Now that I’ve left the Aldens, what am I going 
to do? ” she asked herself. As if this question had 
been an open sesame into her future, it struck 
Posey with such vehemence that she rose and 
slipped out into the night. 

The five old men were all too intoxicated by this 
time to notice her as she threw an old coat about 
her shoulders and slipped out upon the porch. 


182 


THE LOGGER 


For a long time Posey stood looking into the 
black depths of the forest which closed in about 
her. She felt numb, insensible to thought. She 
tried to devise a plan for the years which lay ahead 
of her, but they were too dim and uncertain.. 

What a strange thing life was. The experience 
of the past months had opened her mind up into 
new and perplexing channels. Once she had 
dreamed of the people who lived in the world 
outside of the forest as being different from the 
people in Humptulips. If Tesa Alden was repre¬ 
sentative of them — There was little contrast 
between Tesa and the women of Humptulips. 
What matter whether ope was called a bold huzzy 
or stupid and illiterate? Somehow the latter had 
sounded worse. 

Yet again, there was Mr. Alden. Mr. Alden! 
The very thought of him reacted upon Posey like 
a stimulant. He was not disappointing. It was his 
kindness and the helpful things he said to her which 
made that strange surging in her breast; which 
made her feel, as she told Mother McKnight, that 
she wanted to be great inside 

The sound of the ribald voices from within 
reached Posey’s ears. Through the window she 
could see the five old men. The sight of them 
nauseated her. That was what came of lives not 
well lived. Perhaps, if years ago her father had 
seen as she saw this night, he might have been a 
different man. A sob of pity and disgust rose in 
her breast. Looking tensely out into the darkness, 


THE LOGGER 


183 


she clenched her fists until the nails cut into her 
flesh. 

“ No! No! I — I can’t go back to the old life. 
I don’t know what I’ll do but — but I must go 
on.” 

When she went inside again, Posey shut her ears 
to the boisterous and thick-tongued attempt at 
the sacred old hymns. Going over to her cot she 
threw herself upon it and was soon fast asleep. 
She did not know how long the drinking con¬ 
tinued through the night, but when she woke at 
daybreak the five old men were sprawled in chairs 
or upon the floor snoring heavily; the labored 
breathing of intoxication. 

For a moment Posey felt she could not look upon 
them. She put her hands over her eyes. The 
whiskey-laden air inside was too sickening. She 
rose and sought the fresh air. 

It was a beautiful morning, cold and frosty but 
promising a good day. The sun was just peeping 
above the wall of the forest. It was too chilly to 
walk aimlessly. She was obliged to move briskly. 

She had not gone far when she saw some one 
coming up the road. As the person drew near 
Posey saw it was Alden. She was surprised. 

“ What can he be doin’ over here when the camp 
closed last week?” 

When they met, Alden stopped. He bade her a 
“ Merry Christmas.” 

“ I was just coming over to see you, Posey.” 
She looked up at him perplexed. He paused and 


184 


THE LOGGER 


looked down at her gravely. “ I want you to come 
back home — ” Posey flushed but made no reply. 
“ You made a mistake by leaving as you did last 
night,” he went on. “You must come back — for 
your own sake — ” 

Although she could not understand why he 
insisted, Posey was moved by the tenderness of 
Alden’s voice. Half ashamed, she looked down. 
She kicked at a pebble lying in the road. 

“I—I —don’t guess Mis Alden’ll want me — 
after last night.” 

Alden said nothing for a moment. He was so 
filled with pity, and something else which he dare 
not admit to himself, that he felt he could hardly 
trust himself to speak for fear of revealing this 
other. His voice trembled when he spoke. 

“ But I want you — Posey — ” A woman with 
a keener insight would have suspected what he 
wished to keep concealed, no t only from what he 
said, but from the way he said it. As if to cover 
up what he had just said, he continued hastily: 
“ Posey, you know what it means to your future. 
There is no other way for you — but to return. 
I know it is hard, but nothing worth while in this 
life comes without a struggle. You must not go 
back to the old life — I — I don’t believe you 
could now.” 

Tears sprung to Posey’s eyes. He had guessed 
her thoughts. 

“ No, no ; Mr. Alden, I couldn’t. Please, fergive 
me if it looks like I ain’t ’predated all the goodness 


THE LOGGER 


185 


you’ve done fer me.” She paused and studied him 
a moment. “ But why do you want to do good 
things fer a— a girl like me — ” She stopped. 
There was something in his eyes which she could 
not understand. Something which hurt her, and 
yet made her very happy. Her heart leapt, and 
for a moment she could not look at him. 

Alden saw the slow flush mount to the girl’s 
cheeks, but still he did not move. Although, 
almost unconscious of it as she, something strange 
and overpowering was stirring his soul also. 

“ Posey, you will come for me — won’t you? ” 
When her eyes lifted again the expression of 
them was like two rising suns. A half-eager, half- 
afraid smile trembled on her lips, yet she was 
amazed by what she saw in his eyes. Alden was 
permitting himself to be drawn to her by this 
new and impelling force which had taken possession 
of him. Posey drew back in awe. 

“ Yes, Mr. Alden — I — I’ll come — for 
you-” 



CHAPTER XV 


One morning late in spring Alden sought Tim 
out in the woods. He found him on the skid road, 
on his way toward where the fallers and buckers 
were working. Tim stopped a moment and, tip¬ 
ping back his hat, scratched his head thought¬ 
fully. It was plain to see that he was in a medita¬ 
tive mood. He bent over and picking up a twig 
proceeded to break it into small pieces. 

“ Well, Dave, she looks different than she did 
a year ago — ” 

Alden looked thoughtfully out into the woods. 

“Yes, I think our prospects are good now.” 
He turned again to Tim. “We have a splendid 
opportunity to buy some more timber. Have you 
ever been over Scotty McLean s claim? 

Tim shook his head. 

“ No, I don’t think so.” 

“ Scotty tells me he has about fifteen million 
on it — ” 

“ Yep, I believe that all right. It’s a darn good 
claim.” 

“So I understand. Well, he handed me this 
cruise this morning. According to the cruise, it 
runs about two million hemlock, four of cedar 
and one and a half of spruce. The balance is fir 
of good quality. Scotty wants fifteen thousand 
186 


THE LOGGER 


187 


for it, but if his estimate is correct we will give 
him twenty thousand — ” 

Tim nodded. 

“Yes, an’ then be away ahead of the game.” 

“ That is what I thought, Tim. And I want to 
say that I have no desire to rob anyone up here. 
Of course I wish to succeed; but not unless I can 
play square with the other fellow.” 

“ You bet your life, Dave, you said it.” 

“ I was thinking that this would be a good 
buy,” continued Alden, “ and, under the circum¬ 
stances, an almost necessary one. Remember you 
were saying, that time we were up in the woods 
several months ago, that we would have to go 
through Scotty’s claim to log the two sections 
behind it? That it would be the natural way? ” 
Alden handed Tim the slip of paper with the 
cruise of Scotty McLean’s timber. Tim looked it 
over carefully and then handed it back. 

“I’m satisfied that Scotty is right with the 
cruise, Dave, but even at that we better check up 
on it to satisfy ourselves.” 

“ Oh, most assuredly. I had intended that we 
should. This was merely to show if it was worth 
our while. The reason why he is selling so reason¬ 
ably is that he wants to get down to California 
to his sister. It seems she is in bad health and 
he would like to leave as soon as he can make 
arrangements with us. When do you think we 
could go over there — ” Alden stopped suddenly. 

“Come to think of it I have to go to town in the 


188 


THE LOGGER 


morning. I may not be back for several days. It 
is possible that I will have to go up on the Sound 
before I rSum. Do you suppose you — ” 

“ Sure,” agreed Tim. “ I can go over it easy 
in a half a day. Think maybe I can get things 
lined up today so that I could run over there 
tomorrow afternoon.” 

“ That will be fine if you can, Tim. I’m a bit 
anxious to begin getting a line-up on that timber.” 
Alden smiled. “ It won’t be long before we will 
be needing it.” They talked on for a time and 
then Alden turned and went back down the skid 
road. 

Tim came in with the cruise one evening after 
Alden returned. 

“ Well, old Scotty’s all right. It’s a good buy.” 

When Tim left that evening Alden followed 
him outdoors. They leaned against the railing of 
the veranda and talked earnestly of the matter 
which was uppermost in their thoughts. 

“ By the way, Tim, how do you like your new 
Tacoma yarder? ” 

Tim’s face lighted in the evening dusk. 

“ How do I like it ! Sa-ay, for all she’s only a 
nine an’ a quarter by ten, Dave, she’s a goin’ fool. 
Can do more yarding than anything I ever see 
before. Sure can make them big logs turn somer¬ 
saults.” 

Alden smiled. He was pleased with Tim’s 
approval of their latest buy. It was good to have 
the big generous Irishman’s appreciation of his 


THE LOGGER 


189 


effort. Alden recognized a certain superiority in 
the man that he believed Tim, himself, did not 
know that he possessed. They were both silent 
for a time. Tim’s gaze was out upon the skyline. 
Presently he turned to go. 

“ Well, guess I’ll be gettin’ back to camp.” 

Alden made a quick and decisive movement. 

“ Wait just a moment. I’ll walk a ways over 
with you.” 

Tim nodded. 

“ Sure Mike.” 

Alden went in to get his hat. He met Posey in 
the hall on her way upstairs with Dunny. 

“ Tell Mrs. Alden I am going out for a while.” 

It was Dunny’s bedtime and he was not accept¬ 
ing the fact gracefully. Kicking and scrambling, 
he fought to free himself from Posey. His father 
spoke to him sternly. After that the child ceased 
struggling and went on upstairs calmly. Alden 
joined Tim. 

During the conversation while they walked up 
the road Alden asked Tim if he knew how many 
tools they had. Tim chuckled. 

“ Do I ! Say, I know everything we’ve got 
from donkey engines to marlin spikes an’ wire 
axes — ” 

“ Don’t think I’m trying to run a hardware 
store,” Alden broke in hastily. “ I am just check¬ 
ing up. I was so accustomed to system back there 
in Chicago that I cannot get away from it. 
Besides I believe it is a good habit. I cannot see 


190 


THE LOGGER 


why system should not be applied to logging as 
well as any other industry.” 

“No reason on earth why it shouldn’t.’ 

“ Do you think, Tim, there is anything else we 
could do to speed things up or make our outlook 
seem more successful? ” 

“ Don’t see what more you could ask for the 
prospects of the first year —- With the two yard- 
ers an’ the roader an’ the loader, we’re puttin’ 
out more logs than I ever did in an outfit before. 

Alden could not hide his approval of this last 
remark. 

“ Is that so? ” 

“ Yep. We have all the equipment we need for 
the timber we have now. But after we cross 
Scotty’s we’ll have to log on them hills back o’ 
his place with a high lead. Or we might even have 
to have a sky line. Never be able to reach that 
timber in any other way.” 

“ I was talking to a man up in Seattle about 
that the other day,” said Alden. “ He says the 
Ledgerwood is about the best you can get on that. 
They cost somewhere around fifteen or twenty 
thousand — ” 

Tim made no response for a moment. 

“ Well, of course, that’s a long ways off yet, 
Dave. I guess when we come to it we’ll be able 
to put ’er through.” 

They had reached the river. On the bridge, 
Alden paused. The two of them looked down 
into the water. 


THE LOGGER 


191 


“ Quite a turbulent river for its size,” said 
Alden. 

“ My God, yes— An’ I remember that it 
ain’t been long ago neither since they didn’t have 
nothin’ to cross this river with but a little old 
basket thing suspended on a cable. She’s a bear 
when she’s up, too. We didn’t have mtich of a 
freshet this last winter. This bridge has been a 
big improvement. Before it was put in, the people 
had to trust to God an’ good luck when they was 
crossin’ the river in the winter time.” 

Again a peaceful silence fell between the two 
men. Presently Tim turned. “ Well, guess I’ll be 
moseyin’ on.” He lingered a moment as if there 
was more he wished to say. He leaned back against 
one of the steel beams of the bridge and observed 
Alden thoughtfully. “ How does she look to you 
now, Dave — Have you commenced to feel like a 
logger? ” 

Alden laughed lightly. 

“ Why, yes, I’ve felt like one all along. Haven’t 
I acted it? ” 

“ Oh', yes. I can see you changing every day. 
You’ll soon get that eastern stuff worn off of 
you — ” 

Alden accepted this jest as it was meant. 

“ Well, at any rate, I am beginning to feel more 
like a logger every day. This experience is awaken¬ 
ing me to the western way of doing business. If a 
man is half on the square, I believe these Western¬ 
ers will do anything to help him along. 


192 


THE LOGGER 


“ I believe the Alden Logging Company is 
already in good financial standing 

“ Yep, I think myself we’re over the hump,” 
agreed Tim. 

“ We can borrow all the money we want on our 
personal notes,” Alden went on. “ Fortunately we 
do not require much. Many thanks to you, Tim, 
for your logging ability, I believe you have put us 
on top. That loan from the Hays & Hays Bank 
there last summer gave us just the boost we needed. 
Their president used us exceptionally well at a 
time when we were greatly in need of their 
support.” 

Tim spat down into the water. 

“ He sure used us white, all right.” 

Alden became confidential. 

“ Do you know, Tim, if my wife could only be 
contented here for a while, I would be the happiest 
man in the West — ” 

Tim was a trifle amazed at this bit of informa¬ 
tion. A true Westerner himself, it seemed incredi¬ 
ble that anyone could be dissatisfied with it. 

“ Humph, don’t she like it? ” 

“ No, the poor girl yearns continually to return 
to Chicago. Just as soon as our little girl is old 
enough to stand the trip, I think I shall insist upon 
her going back for a while. Perhaps, when she 
comes back, she will be more contented.” 

Tim made no reply to this. Never having been 
married, he was in no position to offer sympathy 
or advice upon the perplexities of those who were. 


THE LOGGER 


193 


Presently he held out his hand and clasped Alden’s 
warmly before he went on his way. Alden watched 
his bulky form as it merged into the darkness. 
That hand-clasp pleased him. His heart warmed 
with good fellowship toward his big foreman. 

“ And yet, aren’t they all more or less like 
Tim? ” he asked himself. 

He lingered on the bridge. The river was fasci¬ 
nating. The moon was rising, and it cast its silvery 
reflection upon the swiftly moving water. Alden 
watched the highlights playing along the riffles. 
He looked over at the somber outline of the forest, 
then back again at the river. 

“ What a wonderful night!” he thought. “Spring. 
May again.” He listened to the voice of sleepy 
song-birds rising above the low murmur of the 
water; as if reluctant to give up their rejoicing until 
dawn came. The hoarse croaking of frogs floated 
over to him from a pool across the river. 

“ If only Tesa could see the promise in this wild 
country that I can see! But she does not seem to. 
She cannot see it in the men. She cannot see it in 
Posey. She thinks them all so uncouth. But the 
life they’ve lived! Under such conditions, how 
could they be otherwise? ” 

Alden recalled a recent conversation with a 
fellow logger regarding his dream of improving 
working conditions among the loggers. 

“ These men do desire better, but they are not 
conscious of it,” he argued. To which the other did 
not agree. He insisted that the men in the woods 


194 


THE LOGGER 


were hard-boiled — to use his own phrase — and 
desired nothing better than they had at present. 
He threw back his head and laughed boisterously. 

“ What are you talking about, man? Iron beds, 
clean blankets supplied by the company, bathtubs, 
showers! Why, Alden, you’d kill them with that 
sort of stuff. To begin with, they even wouldn’t 
fall for it. All them roughnecks want is a stake every 
four to six months so that they can go to town and 
raise hell with booze and sporting women until 
they get a belly-full, and then they’re ready to go 
back to work again.” The man paused a moment 
before he went on. 

“ Can’t tell me nothing about lumber jacks. 
Been with them for over twenty-five years. Got 
my start in the woods. I’m going to tell you that 
half of them boys haven’t got -sense enough to know 
the difference between a piano and a crosscut 
saw.” He brought his fist down vehemently. “I 
know what I’m talking about.” Alden started to 
speak but the other waved him aside and continued: 

“ And dirt — why sa-ay, they pride themselves 
in the amount of dirt they can keep on their backs 
without it sliding off. By the Lord Harry, I’ll 
never forget one time they had to take one of the 
boys from my camp down to the Aberdeen General 
Hospital. Say, you can believe me or not but that 
sport came back up to camp and bragged that the 
nurse actually had to scrape the dirt off of him 
with a knife. Bragged on it! Said he give them a 
dose of what a real genuine hundred per cent 


THE LOGGER 


195 


roughneck was like. He hadn’t had a bath since he 
went to town the last time, four months before.” 
The man slapped his legs and laughed uproariously 
as if this was a good joke. 

Alden did not laugh. He shook his head. 

“ That doesn’t convince me. I am determined 
to take this matter up with the Legislature during 
their next session in Olympia. It will take more 
than I have encountered yet to shake my faith — ” 

The other wagged his head doubtfully. 

“ Well, hop to it. It’s up to you.” 

Standing there upon the bridge that evening, 
Alden went over the subject slowly and carefully. 
He remembered how he had discussed it further 
with his fellow logger that day. Perhaps his words 
were lost to this more sophisticated person, but he 
now recalled what he had said. 

“ I cannot believe that I am wrong in this dream. 
I believe the only reason that the men are as they 
are is because they have been made to feel that 
logging is entirely a commercial issue in which their 
boss’s financial interest is at stake, and that they 
must work to this interest or lose their job.” 

The other man had laughed. 

“ Sure — why not? ” 

Disregarding this Alden went on. 

“ Yet, deep beneath all this, I believe the men 
do love their work or they would not follow it. If 
they did not love the great out-of-doors they would 
work in saw mills or at other professions where 
they would be sheltered during the long rainy 


196 


THE LOGGER 


seasons— That alone is proof that there is a 
spark of the idealist in them. And, too, I know 
they take great pride in their profession. The 
hooktender feels that the camp could not operate 
without his skilful aid. The faller and the bucker 
feel likewise, the rigging slinger, the swamper and 
every man to the bull cook and the whistle punk.” 

The other man agreed to this. 

“ But why all these high and mighty ideas about 
it? You got me going. All that stuff is over my 
head.” 

Alden recalled a more recent conversation with 
another who had hooted at his idealistic views 
regarding working men. Alden had said that he 
believed the average working man, not only 
loggers but all the laboring class, if they them¬ 
selves were not especially interested in the poetry 
and the beautiful things of life, were at least 
tolerant of them. At the word poetry, the other 
guffawed loudly and told Alden not to try any of 
that on the loggers. They were not a sentimental 
class, to say the least of it. Alden explained that he 
did not mean verse, but poetry in a sense of the 
word; he referred to that ideal realm of life created 
by the imagination. 

“ Many of these men are great scholars,” he said, 
“ but through a certain weakness of the flesh they 
have never put their knowledge to any use.” 

He pointed out men in his own camp. Hoggens, 
the poet, Sky Pilot. Men who, though their inter¬ 
pretation might be crude, did at least cherish a 


THE LOGGER 


197 


desire in their heart to improve their own lives and 
to influence those about them. Many of the men 
were skilful in some line or other. 

Old Sours was a wonderful student of psychol¬ 
ogy; Claude drew amazingly clever pen and ink 
sketches; Happy Lenon was well read and had the 
soul of an artist; old Whitey might have been a 
musical genius if he had had a musical education 
in his younger days. Many of the men could sing 
well for those whose voices were untrained. Mike 
Higgens was an expert at wood carving. At 
Christmas time he had presented the children with 
the cleverest toys he had carved out of yew wood, 
and there was a gay fan for Mrs. Alden. And there 
was Mr. Molly, who could equal any woman in 
needlework — 

“ All this proves that these men do have artistic 
temperament,” he told the man. “They have a love 
for the beautiful, but they are too busy looking out 
for material needs—carving and hewing the forest 
so that people who selfishly follow their art may 
have houses to live in while they are doing so.” 

The other man tapped his brow significantly. 

“ All that stuff is in your head, Alden.. Because 
you are an idealist, you have a sneaking little 
thought that everybody would be if they were given 
the opportunity. You’re all wrong. If any of these 
loggers ever had a soul it’s been dead so long that 
he’s forgotten about it. You might say they are 
spiritual derelicts, as well as material derelicts, 
which most of them are — ” 


198 


THE LOGGER 


Alden shook his head. 

“ What makes them derelicts, still holding up 
the bulwarks of a mighty industry, like the rotten, 
barnacle-eaten, wooden pilings of a wharf that 
sooner or later must be replaced by concrete? ” 

“ I don’t know. You got me.” 

“It is the indifference of the employer to the 
social and moral welfare of his men that makes 
them what they are.” Alden paused and looked 
at the other tensely. “ Some day I am going to 
prove to you logging men of Gray’s Harbor, and to 
every cold and unsympathetic employer in America 
that there is a great urge surging in the breast of 
every working man in our country to better his 
life and to live to the best that is in him. This is 
no longer the day of the chattel slave. This is the 
day of the individual — the man.” 

Standing there on the bridge that night Alden 
raised his eyes from the silver and deep purple of 
the river to the moon sailing in the star-bedecked 
sky. As he looked far into that multi-colored 
firmament his spirit began to lift upward. As he 
had so often done since he was a small boy, he was 
reaching out into space for understanding, for a 
greater knowledge of the mysteries of life. 

His heart went out to the multitudes of unfortu¬ 
nate and misunderstood souls whose lives were 
dulled by the unceasing struggle for their daily 
bread. 

“ Oh, there is— there is a great urge in the breast 
of every man,” he cried, “ an urge to better his life. 


THE LOGGER 


199 


I not only hope and believe it, I know it. And each 
man harkens to that urge in accordance to the 
strength of his own weakness; the resistance of his 
own driving force; to the expanse of his knowledge 
of the better things of life. Those who believe that 
this is not so — are wrong. It is merely that the 
lives of the working men are in chaos, their minds 
stagnated. No, no, their souls are not dead — but 
sleeping — ” 
















































, 





■ •? ■ 














* 





a 























































' 

































BOOK III 

THE SILENT CALL 


















r> 






















CHAPTER XVI 


Horace Wainright, bachelor and wealthy club 
man of Chicago, stood in the bedroom of his 
apartment adjusting his necktie before the mirror. 
He twisted and pulled at it for a time and yet, as 
if possessed with an evil influence, could not get 
it as he wanted it. Either it was a fraction of an 
inch too far to one side or the other, or the knot was 
not just so. Becoming impatient, Wainright called 
to his valet. 

“ William, get me another tie. There is some¬ 
thing wrong with this one. I have tried for over a 
half hour to get this one right and still it balks ” 

Coming in from the next room, the dutiful 
William searched through an array of expensive 
neckties until he found one that pleased Wainright. 
Certain that he was satisfied, William placed the 
stock of neckties precisely back upon the beauti¬ 
fully hand-carved rack and was again leaving the 
room when Wainright called to him. 

“ William, I am thinking of going on that pro¬ 
posed trip to Yellowstone Park with the Van 
Stellars and the Sturtevants and their party. I 
may call you this afternoon. They leave tomorrow 
morning.” He turned and looked at William. 
“Be ready to pack on a moment’s notice. 

“ Yes, sir. Is there anything more, sir?” 

“ No, that is all.” 


203 


204 


THE LOGGER 


William departed. 

On his way down in the elevator of the elaborate 
apartment house where Wainright made his home, 
when he was at home, a strange thought came to 
him. Quite unexpectedly an acquaintance of 
former days whom he had not thought of but 
casually for months leaped into his mind. Unusual 
mental pictures flitted before him. Yellowstone 
National Park. The West — then a pause. 

There swam before him vague thoughts of the 
past. The past! What had it to do with the West? 
Another pause — Tesa Fennel. Why, Tesa 
Fennel, of course! Yet, what connection had she 
with this proposed trip to Yellowstone? Then he 
remembered. 

“ What a numbskull I am! The last I heard of 
Tesa, her primordial hero, - whom she married 
against her parents’ wishes, had carried her out 
west. I now remember having met the mater at 
a reception several months afterward. Cannot 
forget how she wept into her point lace hanky, and 
stated how the big brute had just borne her darling 
away in a most crude and uncouth manner. Had 
Tesa not been willing, both Tesa’s father and her¬ 
self should have interfered.” 

But what was one to do? It seemed he had been 
the man of her choice, although they each believed 
that he must have had a dreadfully hypnotic 
influence over Tesa — Did Mr. Wainright realize 
how painful it was to her dear father and mother? 
The only child! And they had set such hopes on 


THE LOGGER 


205 


her. She was such a dear; so beautiful and cul¬ 
tured. Whatever could she have seen in this David 
Alden, and he a clerk in her father’s office, unless 
it was, as they said, that he had influenced her 
hypnotically? Well, that was the outcome of 
allowing one’s child to become too familiar with 
her father’s employees — 

Wainright wondered now if after five years 
Tesa’s parents had become any more reconciled. 

“ Don’t suppose when she married her primor¬ 
dial hero, Tesa had any idea that she was not 
always going to nestle in the lap of luxury or she 
might not have been so eager to turn me down for 
him,” thought Wainright as he made his way up 
the street. “ Everyone knew what money and 
social standing meant to the Fennels — ” He 
paused. “ But, by heaven, wherever in the West 
is Tesa? The West is a big country — ” He 
stopped suddenly in the street; uncertain as to just 
what course of procedure to take. “ At any rate, 
she is somewhere between the Mississippi and the 
Pacific Ocean.” 

Several moments later Wainright was in a tele¬ 
phone booth telling William to make preparations 
to join the party leaving for Yellowstone the 
following morning. 

In his stateroom the next day Wainright leaned 
contentedly against the velours back of his seat, 
and watched the panorama of Illinois cornfields 
and farmhouses and numerous small towns unfold 
swiftly as they passed. 


206 


THE LOGGER 


Wainright’s complacency had nothing to do with 
his having finally consented to join the party going 
west. In truth he was not altogether satisfied with 
himself regarding this. The Van Stellars and the 
Sturtevants and their crowd were representative 
of the upper crust of Chicago’s ultra-exclusive. 
To one who prided himself on being something of 
a cosmopolite, such persons were more or less of a 
bore. 

But there was something novel in going out into 
the vast and undeveloped regions west of the 
Mississippi in search of the woman one may have 
loved at one time, in answer to what had seemed, 
whether imaginary or otherwise, a telepathic 
message from her. Wainright felt himself suddenly 
exalted, like Sir Launfal in search of the Holy 
Grail. Yet upon second thought he believed he 
was more of a Lothario in search of a new love 
intrigue. 

During the journey he kept as much to himself 
as it was possible and avoid suspicion. However, 
he was suspected, and some of the party even went 
so far as to question him regarding his apparent 
broodiness. The women wondered if he were ill. 
The men wondered if he were in love — again. 

The trip to Yellowstone did prove disappointing. 

“ There isn’t a good fellow in the bunch,” 
Wainright grumbled to himself one night after he 
had gone to bed. And he believed he had just 
cause for complaint. 

If he asked one of the young women of his party 


THE LOGGER 


207 


to take a walk to a certain point of interest, she 
was terribly sorry, but she had promised so and so 
that she would do something else; which, one might 
be sure, took no physical effort to perform. The 
men were scarcely less frustrating. It was not long 
before Wainright learned that, if he wished to view 
any part of the scenery not accessible from the 
hotels or the convenient highways, he would have 
to cut out by himself. 

He was thoroughly disgusted as he recalled the 
haughty Mrs. Van Stellar holding her costly 
lorgnette up to see the sun on the Rockies when 
the glow was so brilliant that a blind man could 
see it. 

“ Oh, how chawmed I am,” she had gurgled, to 
which the ponderous Mrs. Sturtevant had echoed: 
“ Chawmed, indeed.” 

The mincy little Miss Guff-Jordan would pipe, 

“ Isn’t nature amazing! ” 

“ Amazing isn’t the word! ” chimed the rat-eyed 
Reginald Gorwalden, as he always chimed to the 
time of anything that little Miss Guff-Jordan would 
say. 

Wainright wondered if this was the reason he 
had suddenly become obsessed with the idea that 
he wanted to get away out somewhere in the 
wilderness and hide until he was willing and glad 
to get back to the world of people again. The 
gorgeous beauty of the Park reacted upon him as 
nothing in the city could. 

One day he talked with a fellow traveler who 


208 


THE LOGGER 


had been all over the West. Wainright was asked 
if he had visited Rainier National Park. He 
replied that this was his first trip west of the 
Mississippi. 

“ Then you have missed something. I have met 
with people who have travelled all through 
Europe, and they say there is no more beautiful 
scenery in the world than on Puget Sound, from 
which you get a splendid view of Mount Rainier 
and the Cascade Mountains to the south and east.” 

Wainright was interested. He asked many 
questions regarding the Puget Sound country. 
He learned that the Sound was a great body of 
water, an inlet of the Pacific Ocean. He also 
learned that there were two rising cities situated 
upon the Sound; Seattle and Tacoma. Among 
other interesting topics, the stranger told him of 
Lake Quiniault; a tiny fresh-water lake rising out 
of the Olympic Mountains. The Olympics, he 
informed, were even more picturesque than the 
Cascades. They, too, could be seen to the north of 
Seattle and Tacoma. 

“ You never saw such fishing! Dolly Varden, 
mountain trout, salmon trout — the prettiest you 
ever looked upon. ” The man smiled reminis¬ 
cently. “ Perhaps you think it isn’t the best sport 
in the world to go out and make a catch before 
breakfast and bring them into camp to fry upon 
an open fire.” This made Wainright’s mouth 
water. 

The man told him of the hunting in the Olympic 


THE LOGGER 


209 


Mountains. Deer, elk, bear, wildcats — every¬ 
thing from rabbit and grouse to mountain lions. 
Before he had finished, Wainright determined that 
this was the spot for which he yearned. Two days 
later he set out for Seattle. 

During his stay in Seattle and Tacoma on his 
way to Rainier Park, Wainright was somewhat 
surprised at the size of these two sister cities 
situated forty miles apart on Puget Sound. 

“ Why, they are real cities! ” he thought as he 
looked up Second Avenue in Seattle and noted the 
number of tall buildings which climbed skyward. 
He marveled at the smooth broad streets of 
Tacoma and its attractive schools and public 
buildings. 

“ It does one good to come out here to your 
country,” he told a man at the Rainier-Grand in 
Seattle. “ We Easterners imagine that this is still 
the wild and woolly West, when the truth is, you 
are about as far advanced in every line as we are.” 

Rainier National Park proved to be as recom¬ 
mended. Words could not describe the natural 
beauty of that vast undeveloped region. Wain¬ 
right was fascinated by the great white peak 
Rainier which, as one approached it, had the 
peculiar aspect of keeping a trifle in the distance as 
if it were something intangible, to be kept aloof 
from the contact of man. In fact it had an almost 
weird, spectral appearance, as if the mountain 
were not there at all, but that which was seen was 
a vision of something that had been. 


210 


THE LOGGER 


However, during his stay in the Park, Wainright 
climbed the peak and learned that it was, in truth, 
very much there and a most difficult mountain to 
climb. With other mountaineers he took long 
tramps to the ice caves of Nisqually Glacier, the 
Narada Falls, Indian Henry’s trail and many other 
points of interest. 

The latter part of July he was ready to move on 
to Quiniault Lake, two hundred and fifty miles to 
the north. 

His friend at Yellowstone Park had told him 
that since he had missed the best season of fishing, 
which was in May, he would, doubtless, enjoy the 
August season, when there was not only trout in 
the lake and river, but also the famous Quiniault 
salmon, which came up the river in masses to spawn 
during the latter part of August and the first of 
September. 

Wainright came to Gray’s Harbor by rail. From 
there he went to Moclips, a small village on the 
ocean. After spending a few days beside the 
turbulent Pacific, he made arrangements with an 
Indian guide to take him on to Quiniault Lake by 
boat. This in itself was a most wonderful adventure. 

They poled up the Quiniault River to the lake. 
There were places where the rapids were so swift 
that they were obliged to get out and walk around 
them; the guide carrying the canoe on his back. 

“ This is real pioneering,” thought Wainright as 
he tramped through the trails scarcely discernible 
beneath the thick overhanging underbrush. 


THE LOGGER 


211 


He employed the guide to remain with him dur¬ 
ing his stay in the Olympics. The Indian seemed 
exceptionally efficient, and knew all the essential 
small items about roughing it, of which Wainright 
had no knowledge. 

They made a camp across the lake from the 
small hotel for tourists, which was on the south 
shore. Each morning Wainright was up bright and 
early, but never too early to find Charley Mitchell, 
the guide, ready with the row boat to go out to 
catch their breakfast. 

The days were one continuation of brilliant 
sunshine; but only moderately warm. This was 
a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the 
eastern city. 

Their camp offered a splendid view of the 
mountains. They could see far up the valley. 
Mount Baldy, over which the sun rose each 
morning, stood in the foreground. Behind it, 
Colonel Bob, and beyond that rose the full chain 
of the Olympics; their blue-rimmed peaks piercing 
the deep azure sky in a jagged line as far as the eye 
could see. 

Behind their camp and to the west, Lone Moun¬ 
tain stood like a solitary sentinel, obscure and 
somber except when the evening sun, dipping down 
into the western horizon, left a trail of gold that 
pierced its shadows. 

During the following weeks Wainright and his 
guide took many long excursions up the valley. 
They climbed Baldy, the most difficult peak in the 


212 


THE LOGGER 


Olympics, and even ventured into the far reaches of 
the snow caps. They got some small game, but the 
guide explained that it was yet too early in the 
season for big hunting. The deer and elk would not 
come down out of the mountains before autumn. 

Charley Mitchell proved to be an interesting 
companion. During the long cool evenings while 
they smoked before a camp fire, he told Wainright 
many interesting tales of the early history of the 
Quiniault country. He told of his own tribe, the 
Quiniault Indians, and the Hoh Indians of the 
Hoh Reservation to the north. 

Wainright was in his element. Now he was 
alone! To be more emphatically alone he had sent 
William back to Chicago when he left Rainier 
Park; expressing his desite to look after his own 
neckties and fold his own trousers until his return. 

The wild life fascinated him. Of course, he 
reflected, it might eventually become monotonous, 
doubtless it would, but he almost wished that he 
could decide to spend a year right there in the 
restful haven of the Olympic Mountains. 


CHAPTER XVII 


During the four years that elapsed, Alden had 
succeeded in getting the gravel road through from 
Hoquiam to Humptulips. The new road ran along 
the Humptulips River bed, instead of the upper 
Hoquiam, to New London, where it left the river 
and cut through the forest. 

Impatient from being put off from time to time 
with a promise that they would soon start grading, 
he had at last gone to Montesano, the county seat, 
and put the proposition up very emphatically 
before the County Commissioners. The result was 
that they started the road as soon as the weather 
permitted, with the assurance that work would 
begin upon a gravel road from Humptulips to 
Quiniault within a very short time. 

Four years had wrought a vast change in the 
Alden Logging Works. Scotty McLean’s claim 
had been logged off and now they were on the 
section back of it. Much to Tim’s pride, they were 
logging this hillside timber with the aid of a high 
lead. This being such an improvement over the 
old method, they got far more than their quota of 
logs per week. 

The Alden Logging Company was rated in 
Bradstreet and Dim as being worth upward of 
about three hundred thousand. Alden was classed 
213 


214 


THE LOGGER 


among the most successful loggers on the Harbor. 
Moreover, he was soon to get a hearing before the 
Legislature regarding the placing of steel beds, 
blankets furnished by the employer, baths and 
showers in the logging camps. 

This hearing, however, moved as slowly as the 
promise of work upon the road. But, believing that 
eventually he would win his point, he did not 
despair. It became evident that Alden was not the 
only person working upon this issue. 

There rose up a class of men in the West, a 
branch of those who had been operating for some 
time in the East, who called themselves Inde¬ 
pendent Workmen of the World. It was not many 
months before this wave of independence seeped 
into the logging camps. Among the first objects of 
dissatisfaction agitated by these men was the 
unsanitary conditions under which they were 
obliged to live. They demanded that the employer 
furnish decent quarters for the men, otherwise 
there would be a walkout. 

Accustomed for years to the men accepting the 
state of things as they chose to give them, the 
heads of the logging companies all up and down the 
Harbor were hostile. Conferences were held to 
discuss these antagonists who had crept surrepti¬ 
tiously into the realm of the old-time peace-loving 
logger. 

“ What’s the damn country coming to when the 
men who work for you try to run your affairs?” 
many of them grumbled. The outcome of the 


THE LOGGER 


215 


conferences was that the employers formed a body 
to fight the Independent Workmen of the World. 
Alden was invited to join them, but refused. 

“You don’t mean to say that you uphold them 
wobblies! ” one of his colleagues furiously de¬ 
manded. Alden shook his head. 

“ Most emphatically not. I uphold no man in 
the pursuit of wrong. But regarding this demand 
for better sanitary conditions — I know they are 
right. We employers should give our men better 
living quarters. You know what my attitude has 
been all along — ” 

Alden paused and smiled that peculiar smile of 
his which his fellow loggers were beginning to learn 
was by no means a yielding smile. 

“ It strikes me as being somewhat amusing that 
these men should beat me to a matter upon which 
I have been working for over four years. Did it 
not seem that there is so much red tape to these 
favors granted by the State, I should have had a 
bill passed long ago — ” 

Another man broke into the conversation. 

“ But the men have been satisfied for years as 
they are. If it hadn’t been for these confounded 
I. W. W.’s — ” 

“We were satisfied to believe that the world was 
flat until we learned that it wasn’t,” cut in Alden. 

His fellow loggers did not altogether get his 
point of view, but they ceased arguing with him. 
Alden could see that this obstinacy was separat¬ 
ing him from the other logging men of the Harbor, 


216 


THE LOGGER 


few of whom agreed with his, what they considered 
eccentric, views. But believing that he was right 
he continued fearlessly. 

Although he was climbing rapidly in the world 
of commerce, matters were not going well with 
Alden and his family. During the early spring of 
their second year in Washington, Tesa had taken 
the children and gone east. They had stayed until 
almost Christmas time. On her return, instead of 
being content, Tesa was even more dissatisfied 
than before. She often became disagreeable and 
quarrelsome. This grieved Alden more than her 
old manner of arrogance. One evening when she 
had been unusually obdurate, he questioned her. 

“ Tesa, why have you come to magnify my 
faults so? Your manner would almost indicate 
that you no longer love me — ” He paused to 
wait for her answer. When she did not reply at 
once, he went on: “ When one truly loves, one can 
endure the faults of those one loves.” He looked 
at her whimsically, but still Tesa refused to reply. 
Alden went to her side and stood looking down 
upon her as he had so often done in the past. 

“ I am afraid, dear, that unless we work better 
together in the future than we have in the past — 
I’m — I’m afraid our married state is going to go 
to perdition — ” 

Tesa interrupted him. 

“ Well, if you must know the truth, I can give it 
to you.” 

He put an arm about her. She drew away to 


THE LOGGER 


217 


avoid the hurt look that she knew was in his eyes, 
but he observed her calmly. 

“Yes, I would like to know the truth.” 

She turned to him again, her lips curling 
insolently. 

“ What you just hinted is true. I no longer love 
you.” 

Alden pretended not to be amazed by this 
sudden declaration, yet she saw a slight tremor 
pass over him. 

“ Oh, Tesie, I cannot believe that,” he returned 
gently. 

She frowned and braced herself against this wave 
of tenderness. His very kindness antagonized her, 
because it was harder to meet than if he resented 
or scorned her. 

“ It is true, nevertheless. You are repulsive to 
me. I — I wish that I might never see you again. 
I — why, sometimes I even hate you! ” 

Alden drew away from what he saw in her eyes. 
They horrified him. He had never seen such bitter¬ 
ness in a woman’s eyes before. There was a 
moment of rigid silence between them. He wanted 
time to think. Presently he spoke: 

“ Tesa, I scarcely can believe that you mean 
what you say. Surely your nerves are ragged again 
tonight. Let us dismiss the subject for the present 
and talk of it at some future time when you feel 
more calm.” 

Tesa flushed. She turned and faced him 
fiercely 


218 


THE LOGGER 


“ But I am calm tonight! If my nerves are 
ragged it is from living month in and month out at 
the end of the earth with a man I despise! ” 
Alden put up his hands as if to ward off a blow. 
“ Tesa, how can you despise me when I have 
always tried to make you so happy? ” 

“ Yes, you have tried to make me happy by 
opposing me in every desire — by striving to 
mould me over into the kind of woman you would 
wish me to be —” 

He smiled bitterly. 

“ In spite of our being so intensely in earnest, 
Tesa, this is somewhat amusing. That is the very 
thing you tried to do with me when we were first 
married. If I have turned the tables on you, it 
should be a fair exchange — ” 

This merely added to Tesa’s fire. 

“ Oh, don’t try to be humorous in such a moment 
as this! Getting to the point, I wish to tell you that 
just as soon as arrangements can be made, I 
intend to take my children and go home to my 
parents — ” 

Alden lifted a warning hand. He strove to 
appear calm, but his breast heaved. For the first 
time in their married life, she had angered him 
deeply. 

“No, you will not take the children, Tesa.” 
Tesa’s eyes flashed. 

“ Do you think if I should divorce you that I 
would give up my children? ” 

“No, indeed, you shall not give up our children 


THE LOGGER 


219 


— because you are not going to get a divorce.” 

She flung back her head defiantly. 

“ And who said I was not, pray? ” 

Her presumption was infuriating. Alden went 
white with rage. 

“ I said so! ” 

Before he could control himself, Alden caught 
her arm fiercely. 

“ But you won’t, Tesa. Regardless of what you 
think of me, you are going to stay with me because 
you have borne two children by me. The welfare 
of those children is more important than the flimsy 
desires of either you or me.” Tesa struggled to free 
herself, but he grasped her more tightly. “ My 
son and daughter are not going to grow up to face 
the disgrace of divorced parents.” He released her, 
and stood facing her tensely; a triumphant light in 
his eyes. “ Now — after that don’t you think it 
better to become reconciled? ” 

Tesa’s only reply was a dark scowl and “ You 
brute! ” she cried as she fled from the room. She 
did not know that Alden paced up and down for 
hours during that long night and fought the storm 
of anger and disappointment and humiliation that 
raged in his breast. 

During that interval Posey sometimes came into 
his thoughts. He recalled that during the past four 
years, Posey had changed more than he had even 
hoped for. She was developing into splendid 
womanhood, but a womanhood more magnificent 
than that of which he had dreamed. 


220 


THE LOGGER 


The strange attraction that Alden had felt for 
Posey since the first time he saw her, had increased 
as the months passed. He fought it as any true 
gentleman would fight a matter which he believed 
detrimental to his state of righteous manhood. 
But since that Christmas morning four years 
before, when he had met Posey in the road, he knew 
that his interest in her was not all pity. Yet, with 
all this, he never for one moment forgot his rigid 
duty toward his wife and children. Even though 
Posey lived in his home, she suspected least of any 
person in the household or in the community the 
struggle which was going on in David Alden’s 
breast. 

This night, after the painful interview with 
Tesa, he thought it best to put Posey out of his 
mind. In fact he reprimanded himself and won¬ 
dered if this deceptive influence had any bearing 
upon his life with Tesa. 

“ But I know that this feeling I have for Posey 
is something too high and noble for reproach,” he 
declared to himself. “ It is what I had hoped to 
find in Tesa — but at last I have come to know 
that Tesa is one of those who look upon love as 
being a matter which does not rise above a physical 
plane. After the bitter experience this evening, I 
am convinced that if she and I can never meet 
even on a physical plane it is hopeless to desire to 
ever rise above it — ” With this unhappy 
acquiescence he returned home and crept wearily 
to his room. 


THE LOGGER 


221 


Several evenings later Alden was coming in from 
camp. Some one was ahead of him, but as it was 
just growing dusk, he could scarcely recognize who 
it was until he drew near. When he saw the tilt of 
her head and the graceful movements of her body, 
he knew that it was Posey. He walked swiftly 
until he overtook her. Posey was both pleased and 
surprised. She stopped to greet him. 

He wondered if she was conscious of the picture 
she made as she stood there in the half-light of the 
evening, her eyes as limpid as the shadows off in 
the woods, her hair gleaming as if it still retained a 
splash of the last rays of the sun which reddened 
the sky above them. 

As they moved leisurely along, something of the 
enchanted spirit of that summer evening crept into 
both their veins. They talked but little. The 
twittering chorus of the birds in the branches above 
them and the wind soughing through the trees 
played a tune too exalted to be interrupted by mere 
commonplace speech. Darkness came on; that 
intense, alluring darkness of the forest. 

While she walked by his side, Alden felt the 
fullness of Posey’s vital youth. Glancing at the 
shadow of her fine profile he thought of the 
promise of splendid womanhood she portrayed. 

“ What a woman she is going to be! What a 
wife for some man!” 

As if she divined the thread of his thoughts, 
Posey suddenly stopped in the road. She surprised 
him by asking: 


222 


THE LOGGER 


“ Mr. Alden, do you believe in love? ” 

Amazed by her question, he could not answer at 
once. “Why — why, yes, Posey. That is — I 
always have. Why do you ask? ” 

“ Well, Mother McKnight was talking with me 
about love this afternoon. Aunt Sally Mullen and 
a lot of the people in Humptulips keep wondering 
why I have never fell — fallen in love. They keep 
talking to me about it until now I’m beginning to 
wonder myself. I asked Mother McKnight today 
what she thought was the reason I never have fell 
— fallen in love and she says it is because I have 
never found my mate. When I come to think 
about it, I wonder if I’ll know it when I do find 
him — 

“Aunt Sally and the women in Humptulips say 
there is a reason to worry when I’m nineteen 
already and nearly all the girls here are married 
and got babies, some of them, before they are that 
old. Aunt Sally and them think they’ve got a 
right to worry about me — Have they ? ’’ 

Alden studied a moment. 

“ There is no set rule as to the age a girl should 
marry, Posey. I believe Mother McKnight is 
correct: you have not found your mate. 

“ But how am I going to know when I do? ” 
Posey’s voice rang with a true note of alarm. 

Alden felt like telling her that some girl was 
asking that same question every moment of every 
day of the year throughout time. But in the 
shadow he could see her panting, breathless with 


THE LOGGER 


223 


excitement. The matter was too momentous to be 
considered lightly. 

“ I—I want to know, Mr. Alden. I thought per¬ 
haps you could tell me.” She hesitated. “You— 
you seem to know everything — ” 

Posey’s fervor was contagious. A moment before 
Alden’s heart had leapt, but now the same sensa¬ 
tion of power which she always made him feel, 
dominated the pounding of his pulses. Something 
in what she had just said sustained him and 
reminded him of the difference in their years and 
mental status. 

“ That is pice of you to say, Posey. But there 
are many things I do not know.” He thought of 
the interview with his wife several evenings before. 
“ Some things I thought I knew, I have learned 
were wrong — ” 

Posey caught the hint of sorrow in his voice. 
She drew nearer to him. Suddenly she half sensed 
the same powerful vibrations which had passed 
between them on that Christmas morning four 
years before. But she was conscious only of 
deepest appreciation when she said: 

“ Mr. Alden, I — I think you are the grandest 
man I ever knew.” The sweetness and the ear¬ 
nestness of her voice moved him deeply. 

“ Thank you, Posey. I wish everyone regarded 
me as highly.” 

This surprised her. “ Why, don’t they? ” 

“ Not everyone — no — ” 

This appealed to her sympathetic heart. Posey 


224 


THE LOGGER 


reached her hand out to him in the darkness. 
Alden’s hand closed over hers, and something in 
that clasp overpowered them both. In another 
moment Posey was in his arms, tense, animated, 
trembling, her tear-wet cheek pressed against his. 

Too overwhelmed to realize what he was doing, 
Alden clung to her like one who has wandered a 
lifetime and only at last found that for which he 
was seeking. While he held her against his breast, 
it seemed as if there had come to his soul a silent 
call, and in that call sounded the triumphant 
declaration that in this great-hearted child-woman 
of the forest he had found his mate — 

And then he remembered. With keen remem¬ 
brance came the truth. His life was linked with 
that of another, a woman who did not love him, 
who loathed him and because they had borne two 
children together, they must go on to the end. 

Bitter remorse smote him. He put Posey away 
from him gently, as one turns from that which 
everything in his being desires, yet which he 
knows he must not have. In that instant his 
beautiful vision suffered a painful reaction. 

Posey misunderstood him. “ Oh, Mr. Alden, 
I — I’m so ashamed! ” 

He put out his hand and stroked her head 
gently. 

“No, dear, don’t be ashamed. Sometime—some¬ 
time perhaps I can explain this to you — ” His 
voice trembled. “ But I cannot explain it — 
tonight.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


One brilliant afternoon, right after the first of 
September, Wainright and his Indian guide were 
hunting far up on a mountain side. The guide 
had explained that the bear kept to the prairies 
and the mountain sides during the blackberry and 
huckleberry season. 

A distance ahead of Wainright, the guide pres¬ 
ently motioned him to keep still and creep stealth¬ 
ily. Following quietly, they came to a small 
clearing where a patch of wild blackberries ran 
riot along the ground and over fallen logs. On 
their haunches before a bush of luscious berries, 
an old mother bear and two cubs were greedily 
raking the fruit into their mouths with their fore¬ 
paws. Too small to reach the bush sitting, the 
cubs stood by their mother’s side. 

The guide watched Wainright’s face. Pointing 
at his gun, he leaned over and whispered: “ No 
shoot ’em when got cub.” Wainright shook his 
head and smiled. 

Later the guide told Wainright of the cruel 
slaughter of the wild animals, especially the deer 
and the elk when the cows were heavy with young 
or still nursing their calves. Many a female ani¬ 
mal had been shot at this time and the young were 
left in the woods to starve. However, in later 
225 


226 


THE LOGGER 


years the law prohibiting the killing of certain 
animals except during a stated season had given 
them greater protection. 

Often during these wanderings the Indian 
related his trapping experiences and, although 
told in the stoic manner of the undemonstrative 
Siwash, it was nevertheless thrilling to the hearer. 
Wainright decided to spend the winter in the 
Olympic Mountains and trap with the Indian. 

“ Why not,” he wrote a friend in Chicago. “As 
far as it has gone, this is the life. I imagine a year 
might be sufficient, but it is an amazingly attrac¬ 
tive contrast from the tiresome routine of society.^ 
Not that I am off with the social whirl, under¬ 
stand. No doubt by spring I will be anxious to 
get back to it. But for the present, yours truly 
intends to bury himself right here in the heart of 
the Olympics. 

“ I have succeeded in renting the cabin of an 
old homestead across the lake frorn what they call 
the town site. I have converted this old log cabin 
into a most inviting lodge. Overlooking the lake 
and the valley of the Olympics makes it an ideal 
spot.” 

Going over for his mail one morning Wainright 
learned there was much excitement abroad. The 
Atlantic Fleet, which was making a cruise up into 
the North Pacific waters, was leaving three big 
battleships, and Dewey’s flagship, the Olympia , 
in Gray’s Harbor for several days. There was to 
be a big Labor Day celebration in honor of the 


THE LOGGER 


227 


event. Ranchers from far and near, Indians from 
the reservations, and loggers and mill workers all 
up and down the Harbor had planned a carnival 
to demonstrate to the official staff and the sailors 
of the fleet a true exhibition of the new West. 

There were to be boat races, foot races, log¬ 
rolling and rapid tree-falling contests and many 
other manifestations of the workmen’s skill. 

The representatives of each Indian tribe were 
to pitch their tents down on the shore of the 
Harbor, where they would sell beads, baskets and 
ornaments cleverly made by hand in exchange for 
whatever the purchaser chose to give them. They 
chose fire water. There was a law against the 
giving or selling of fire water to the Indians but, 
perhaps, if they were careful — it had been 
managed before. 

Riding the fifty miles to town on horseback, 
Wainright found the two small towns rife with 
excitement. The streets were gorgeously deco¬ 
rated with flags and bunting. The shrill buzz of 
saw mills was now replaced by the music of a 
merry-go-round calliope, both town and military 
bands and the loud voice of the throng. 

In a pen, just off of the main street, a rancher 
had his band of tame elk; driven down from 
Quiniault for the occasion. They were an object 
of great concern to the sailors from the ships. 

Wainright soon fled from the raucous street 
carnival and sought out the athletic contests. 
Never having seen it before, the log-rolling con- 


228 


THE LOGGER 


test interested him most. It seemed incredible 
that two men could remain on a log when it was 
spinning in the water as if revolving on a pivot. 
With pike-pole in hand, the game was to see which 
logger could stay on the log the longer. From 
here Wainright went to watch the Indians in a 
canoe-poling contest. From there to the pole- 
vaulting and swimming and high-diving contests. 

The most imposing feature of the day was the 
presentation of a pair of cub bears to the sailors 
of each boat. It was amusing to see two old 
loggers — Paddy McTigh and Jim McGovern of 
the Alden Logging Company’s Camp No. 2, it 
was announced — as they solemnly offered the 
fuzzy little animals which they had captured in 
the woods several weeks before. 

“ An’, b’lieve me, it’s no small job, I want to tell 
yez,” Paddy added, as he handed over his gift to 
the captain in charge of Dewey’s flagship, the 
Olympia . 

Clinging greedily to a nursing bottle from which 
the milk was fast disappearing, the two cubs did 
not stop for ceremonies when the captain held 
them up for the crowd to view. Their little 
stomachs protruded like that of an overloaded 
puppy, but they were determined not to give up 
until the last drop was exhausted. 

After a time Wainright wandered over to an 
open pavilion where, that afternoon, speeches were 
to be made. It was still early. The seats were 
almost entirely vacant. Taking off his hat to cool 


THE LOGGER 


229 


his head, he fanned himself while he looked out 
upon the street. He fell to studying the different 
types of the excited throng which moved back and 
forth before him. He believed he had never seen a 
more varied crowd. 

There were lumberjacks, dressed up for the 
occasion, but the peculiar swing of their shoulders 
divulged their occupation. Mill men, sailors, 
loggers, ranchers, women and children of all sizes 
and classes bumped shoulders while they marched 
to and fro. 

A rancher’s lusty wife passed with her brood of 
young clinging to her skirts. Two young couples, 
greedily devouring cracker jack, came giggling up 
the street. The girls, clad in bright-colored cotton 
dresses, looked about them self-consciously; the 
boys, decked out in flaming ties and purple socks, 
a gay ribbon with “ Atlantic Fleet 190-” banding 
their hats, strutted cocksurely by their side. A 
well-to-do lumberman’s wife swept up the street in 
a regal manner, a son and a daughter on either side 
of her, their set faces fixed ahead as if they dare 
not look upon the common herd. Little girls with 
long, sleek braids and rosy cheeks strode along 
hand in hand. Small urchins hurried past, shouting 
in high, shrill voices. Sober-faced fathers wheeling 
baby carriages moved slowly along; the mother 
either hot and flushed or calmly following. Old 
men and women tottered by, their dim eyes lighted 
from the stimulant of this unusual commotion. 

Wainright smiled. 


230 


THE LOGGER 


“ Ah, so this is the rabble of the West. After all, 
the earth isn’t so large. There is Hot a great degree 
of difference between the rabble of Gray’s Harbor, 
Washington, and that of Chicago. Kipling is 
right — ” 

He turned from the crowd outside to the people 
filin g in the pavilion to hear the “speakinV’ He 
looked on absently for a time, when presently his 
attention was attracted by a woman and a child 
who sat across from him. The woman’s face was 
turned, but there was something strangely familiar 
about her profile. The child, a handsome boy, sat 
wearily upon his mother’s lap. He appeared very 
tired, but not too tired to ask questions. 

“ Mother, did the man thank Paddy McTigh and 
Jim Govern for the baby bears? ” 

“ Yes, Dunny.” 

“ And did they like the baby bears — the 
soldiers? ” 

“You mean the sailors — ” 

“ Yes. Did the sailors like the baby bears? ” 

She nodded. 

“ I think so.” 

“ And will the little baby bears be happy on the 
boats? ” 

“ Oh, yes, of course.” 

“ But if the boat goes down in the water, will the 
little bears go drowned? ” 

“No, the sailors would save them.” 

“ But if they didn’t save them, would the little 
bears go drowned? ” 


THE LOGGER 


231 


“ I expect they would swim.” 

“ Can baby bears swim? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But if the baby bears couldn’t swimmed would 
they go drowned? ” 

The mother looked down at the child impa¬ 
tiently. Wainright could see that she_had wearied 
of his unceasing questions. 

“ Oh, Dunny, give me a rest, please! ” 

The boy looked about him for a moment heavy¬ 
eyed. Presently he leaned back against his 
mother’s breast and was soon asleep. A tall young 
girl leading a chubby baby of about four years 
came up the aisle and stopped beside the woman. 
Jumping up and down and patting her small hands 
with glee, the baby indicated a number of ice¬ 
cream cones which the girl carried carefully. 

“ One fo’ Posey an’ one fo’ Dunny an’ one fo’ 
Sissy Mobo an’—an’ one fo’ Muzzy, too! ” 

Handing the ice cream to the woman, the girl 
took the sleeping boy. The baby climbed into her 
mother’s lap. When the mother bent over to pick 
her up, Wainright got a good view of her face. 

“ Tesa! ” he gasped, almost aloud. “ I might 
have known that profile belonged to no other. 
Tesa Fennel — away out here at the end of the 
earth — ” He proceeded to study her. His keen 
conception of analysis took in the entire situation 
in an instant. “ Tesa has aged too much for her. 
She is still beautiful, but there is a weary expres¬ 
sion about her eyes. I do not like that. She is too 


232 


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healthy to have that from physical suffering. It is 
mental. She is not happy.” With a quick nervous 
movement he rose and crossed the aisle. 

So many people were coming in, Tesa did not 
notice anyone standing before her until she 
chanced to look up. She recognized him at once. 

“ Horace — am I seeing right? ” 

He held out his hand. 

“ I think so, Tesa.” 

Tesa gave him her hand. As his fingers closed 
over her cool slender fingers, Wainright thought of 
the last time he had held them. It was the night 
she broke their engagement. Wainright smiled. 

There was both warmth and sympathetic appeal 
in the eyes Tesa lifted to his. He noted this. 

“ And whatever are you doing away out here, 
Horace? ” 

He dropped down upon the seat beside her. 

“ And whatever are you doing away out here?” 

“You know I came here the year after I 
married.” 

His brows lifted slightly. 

“ And I came here — looking for you — ” 

Tesa cast a swift glance at Posey. But by this 
time Dunny had awakened. Posey was busy 
watching the children to see that they did not spill 
their ice cream. Obviously she was paying no 
attention to what anyone else was saying or doing. 
Tesa turned to Wainright again. She smiled 
whimsically. 

“ Oh, Horace, don’t be absurd. Tell me about 


THE LOGGER 


233 


yourself. What have you been doing since I last 
saw you? ” 

In a low voice he proceeded to give her a brief 
sketch of himself from the time they parted years 
before to the trip to the Yellowstone, Mount 
Rainier and then finally on to Quiniault. By this 
time the speeches had begun. Tesa and Wainright 
heard nothing. The children grew restless. Tesa 
told Posey to take them outside. 

Wainright tossed Posey a dollar. 

“ There, give them all the rides they want on the 
merry-go-round. ’ * He turned to Tesa./ “ It won’t 
hurt them, will it? ” 

“ It hurts when they have to stop,” whispered 
Posey. She put the coin in her purse and led the 
children away. 

As they scrambled up the aisle clinging to 
Posey’s hand, Wainright nodded toward Dunny 
and Sissy Mobo. 

“ Since they call you ‘ Mother ’ I presume they 
are yours.” Tesa nodded. “ And who, may I ask, 
is the Titian-haired, limpid-eyed goddess in 
charge? ” 

Tesa laughed. 

“ Oh, she is a protegee of my husband.” 

Wainright was thoughtful. 

“A trifle uncultured but truly almost beautiful.” 

Tesa’s lips parted in a vague smile. 

“ You should have seen her in the beginning. 
She is one of David’s jungle people.” 

Wainright looked at her inquisitively. 


234 


THE LOGGER 


“ Jungle people? ” 

“ From Humptulips. That is where he carries 
on his logging business. I must tell you at once, it 
is I who call the natives of this village jungle 
people. Did he hear me, he would be very much 

chagrined.” > . ___ , ., 

While Tesa told him of her life m the West, it 
was so different from her past that he could 
scarcely connect this woman with the girl he had 
known before. 

“Iam criticised severely by the upper-crust of 
both Hoquiam and Aberdeen for living in Hump- 
tulips. The wives of all the other loggers live in 
town.” Tesa’s lips curled. “ But I can see little 
choice between these mud flats and the woods. 
The surroundings are at least picturesque up there, 
while here the hills back of the towns are covered 
with stumps and logs; and with this dreadful ill¬ 
smelling bay to the front, can you blame me for 

choosing the woods? ” 

“ One can see the ocean from here, can’t he? 
he inquired. 

“ Sometimes, by straining the eye and the 
imagination — you can — yes. 

Wainright studied the fine lines that were 
appearing about Tesa’s eyes and lips. 

“ You have changed but little, Tesa.” 

She felt his eyes upon her. Shaking her head, 

she flushed. n 

“ Oh, but I have. I have grown older — ” 

“ Very little. And if so — more charming.” 


THE LOGGER 


235 


Her brows lifted. 

“ I see you have not forgotten your old habit of 
flattery, Horace.” 

His eyes darkened. He leaned more closely to 
her. 

“ It was not flattery with you — Tesa.” 

Tesa drew away from him. Avoiding his eyes, 
she rose, stating she believed she must go to Posey 
and the children. Wainright followed her and 
walked by her side up the street. 

They found the children at the merry-go-round. 
When his mother announced that it was time to go, 
Dunny set up a howl. But Tesa was firm. 

Wainright saw them to their car, which was 
waiting for them up the street. 

“ This seems apparent — your husband is pros¬ 
perous,” he said, as he observed the big seven-pas¬ 
senger touring car of the latest model. Tesa smiled, 
but said nothing. 

A moment later, she offered her hand to Wain¬ 
right and left him with his promise that he would 
come to visit them at their home within the next 
few days. He stood watching them until the big 
car backed out into the street and turned its huge 
nose in the direction of Humptulips. 


CHAPTER XIX 


“ Yes, I know you don’t like to hear me gossip 
about Mrs. Alden, Mother McKnight, but hon¬ 
estly you don’t know how she has changed since 
that Mr. Wainright came here. You know, that 
man from Chicago that is staying up at Quiniault.” 

Mother McKnight knew far better than Posey, 
that Tesa Alden was a very unhappy woman. She 
had learned much during the months spent in the 
Alden home from hints that Tesa had dropped at 
various times. However she did not blame Tesa for 
her dissatisfaction. She believed that Tesa’s self- 
centered conduct was because she had been an 
only child and, the daughter of wealthy parents, 
nothing had risen in her life to restrain her. 

Mother McKnight did regret that she even 
exercised this selfishness on her children and, even 
though she loved them after a fashion, it appeared 
that they did not come first in her heart. She often 
shook her head thoughtfully regarding Tesa’s 
problem and wished that she were strong enough to 
help her. 

“ It all comes from lack of understanding,” she 
concluded. “If we could only see things in their 
true light in this world, what a different world it 
would be.” 

Mother McKnight did not want Posey to know 
236 


THE LOGGER 


237 


that she suspected anything had gone wrong in the 
Alden home. She believed Posey was too young to 
understand such conditions. 

“ Well, of course, it pleases her to have some one 
from her old home to visit with,” she returned. 

“But she acts so funny with him. She always 
seems so happy when he’s there. She acts with Mr. 
Wainright like she ought to act with Mr. Alden. 
And every time he comes, why, the first thing he 
does is kiss her hand, like this — ” Posey pro¬ 
ceeded to demonstrate the action. Mother 
McKnight was going to explain that this was 
merely courtesy, but Posey hastened on: “ And, 
honestly, she just seems to treat Mr. Alden worse 
every day. Sometimes when he looks so solemn 
and hurt when she says mean things to him, I 
can’t hardly keep from crying.” 

Mother McKnight interrupted her. 

“ But, Posey, we do not know what there is 
between Mr. and Mrs. Alden — ” 

“ I don’t think there’s anything between them. 
That’s what’s the matter. I’ve thought for a long 
time that she doesn’t love him. If a woman loved 
her husband she wouldn’t act like that.” 

Mother McKnight made no reply. A silence fell 
between them. Posey’s mind was working furi¬ 
ously. Since the evening of her strange experience 
with Alden, she had yearned to talk it over with 
some one. Yet intuition warned her that she must 
be careful to whom she confided it; it was not a 
subject to be broadcasted, 


238 


THE LOGGER 


Moreover, as time passed she became perplexed. 
Mr. Alden had said that he would sometime explain 
his conduct that night. He had not explained. 
Could it be that he had changed his mind ? 

There were times when Posey had to fight a 
tremendous desire to be in his arms again, with his 
eyes searching hers in the dusk of that summer 
evening. Always during these battles she would 
become terribly ashamed, and they would end in a 
fit of depression. Her work and her lessons, which 
Alden still continued, were not enough to occupy 
her young mind. But reprimanding herself after 
one of these mental outbursts, she would strive to 
shut everything else out of her thoughts and plunge 
into her studies and her work with a zest akin to 
madness. This day she felt she must talk to some¬ 
one regarding her affection for Alden. Looking out 
the window dreamily for a time, she turned to 
Mother McKnight. 

“ The reason I feel so bad when Mrs. Alden 
treats him the way she does is because I like him 
so well myself, Mother McKnight.” 

Mother McKnight nodded. 

“Yes, Mr. Alden is a very nice man.” 

Posey shook her head vigorously. 

“ But I don’t mean just that! I —I mean I like 
him different than thinking he’s — just nice. I —• 
why, I think Mr. Alden’s the grandest man in 
Hump tulips or Gray’s Harbor or — or the whole 
wide world! ” 

Mother McKnight’s face went grey with surprise. 


THE LOGGER 


239 


“ Posey, what do you mean? ” 

Now that it was out, Posey continued boldly: 
“I — I mean that I can’t tell you how much I do 
like Mr. Alden because—because I just don’t know 
myself — ” She wished that Mother McKnight 
would not look at her so coldly. 

“ Mr. Alden is a married man, Posey. It is all 
right for young ladies to admire married men, 
married men as nice as Mr. Alden, but they 
should not talk like you are talking — ” 

Hot tears sprang to Posey’s eyes. 

“ But why shouldn’t I like him awfully, awfully 
well when he has always been so good and kind to 
me? Where would I be now if it wasn’t for him? 
And it wasn’t Mrs. Alden that give me a place in 
their home that night I come to them. She tells 
me that every time she gets mad at me. She says 
she would have turned me back into the road. But 
Mr. Alden was my friend. And he’s been my friend 
ever since. He’s taught me grammar and manners. 
He’s taught me how to appreciate the better things 
of life; good books, music and — and a thousand 
things, Mother McKnight, that I’d have never got 
if it hadn’t been for him — ” 

Mother McKnight was a trifle hurt by this 
confession. 

“ But you know, if I could, I’d have done as 
much for you.” 

“ Of course you would, Mother McKnight! And 
you’ve been a grand friend all the way through, 
but somehow it took a person like Mr. Alden to 


240 


THE LOGGER 


make me change my ways. You remember what a 
terrible girl I was five years ago.” 

“ Oh, but you were still just a little girl. You 
would have been all right when you got old enough 
to understand.” 

Posey shook her head. 

“ I don’t know about that. Things grow on you. 
It’s like Mr. Alden was telling Mr. Wainright the 
other night. This roughness and immoral condition 
among the loggers, he said, wasn’t any one man’s 
fault. It was the general situation. Perhaps each 
individual wanted to quit drinking and carousing, 
he said, but there was always his associates to drag 
him down into it. There was no getting away from 
it because the entire economic system was wrong, 
and that was just why he was so anxious to get at 
the bottom of conditions — So you can see from 
that, what a wonderful man he is.” 

Mother McKnight nodded. 

“ Of course, Posey, no one knows more than I do 
how Mr. Alden wants to help everybody. See 
what he has done for me; giving me the money to 
live on and won’t let me wash for the loggers any 
more.” 

“ That’s just it. There isn’t another man in the 
world like Mr. Alden, and I know it.” Posey 
paused a moment before continuing: “Folks in 
Humptulips are calling me stuck up, now. But I 
don’t care. They used to poke fun at me and say 
I was ragged and good-for-nothing. So I guess I 
would get it no matter which way I went.” 


THE LOGGER 


241 


Mother McKnight sighed. 

“Well, I suppose folks that would criticize a 
body, would criticize you no matter how much you 
tried. And it’s best to know yourself enough to 
know you are right, and then not care what they 
say.” 

When Posey rose to go Mother McKnight asked 
her not to stay away so long next time. 

“ It gets lonesome when a person don’t see you 
once in a while.” 

Smiling deeply, Posey went to Mother McKnight 
and threw her arms about her neck. Laying her 
smooth young cheek against the soft faded one, she 
hugged Mother McKnight vehemently. 

“ Would it be just awfully, awfully bad for me 
to go on liking Mr. Alden — like I told you — ” 

Mother McKnight drew back and held the girl 
at arm’s length. She looked earnestly into Posey’s 
eyes. 

“ You can like Mr. Alden all you want to, 
Posey, but it must be in the right way.” 

A shadow of pain crossed Posey’s face. 

“ What other way is there to like a man like Mr. 
Alden! ” 

Her intense seriousness touched Mother Mc¬ 
Knight and she was immediately ashamed of 
mature understanding which so often suspects the 
impulsive adoration of youth. Tears sprang to her 
eyes and she shook her head. 

“ No other way, honey.” 

In another moment Posey bounded through the 


242 


THE LOGGER 


door and was soon swinging up the road, her head 
flung back, her eyes staring fiercely into the vista 
of trees which formed the wall of the forest on 
either side of the road. The confession to Mother 
McKnight may have relieved her pent-up emo¬ 
tions, but it had also intensified them. 

As she crossed the river, Posey was surprised to 
find Dunny and Sissy Mobo running toward her. 
A sudden wave of fear swept her. She hurried 
swiftly to them. As soon as she was in hearing she 
called to them: “ Dunny and Sissy Mobo, what are 
you doing down here! ” 

The two children paused. Dunny’s countenance 
became crestfallen. Sissy Mobo’s lower lip trem¬ 
bled. Instantly sorry she had wounded their 
feelings, Posey bent down and put an arm about 
each of them. 

“ We corned to meet you — ” sobbed Dunny. 

“ We tomed to meet oo,” echoed Sissy Mobo. 

Posey held them close for a moment and then 
rising, took a hand of each and started toward 
home. Dunny was not satisfied. 

“ I want to see the river! ” He tugged at Posey’s 
hand and pointed toward the river. “ I want to see 
the pretty water running away — ” 

Posey held” him back. 

“ You remember how your daddy scolds when 
you go down to the river and you know he told you 
how dangerous it was — ” 

Dunny pouted. 

“ But — but you’re with me now.” 


THE LOGGER 


243 


“ Well, just this time, but never, never only 
when I or your mother or daddy is with you — ” 
Posey suffered him to lead her to the bank where 
the two children gazed wide-eyed at the swiftly 
moving stream. Sissy Mobo jumped up and down 
and clapped her hands in glee. 

“ Pretty! Pretty! Pretty! ” 

Dunny cast a significant glance at Posey. 

“Yes, but if little boys and little Sissy Mobos 
fall in they go drowned.” Posey returned his 
glance with great gravity. 

“You just bet they do.” 

All during that summer, Dunny had been in a 
habit of running away from home and taking his 
little sister with him. Twice they had been found 
down by the river. The water seemed to fascinate 
the child and in spite of his father’s repeated 
warnings and threats of severe punishment, 
Dunny had run away again. This time he begged 
off with the excuse that he had gone to meet 
Posey. Believing this half true, he was not 
punished when he reached home. 

In fact his father found it hard to punish him 
even when it was for his own good. Alden loved 
both his children, but somehow Maribel Marie did 
not quite touch the vibrant chord of parental 
pride in her father, as did his first-born. 

That evening, sitting at his desk in his study, 
which was just off his bedroom, Alden could hear 
Posey with the two children across the hall in the 
bathroom. From the shrill squeals and riotous 


244 


THE LOGGER 


sounds it was obvious that they were being 
scrubbed up for the night. Presently he heard 
small feet pattering from the bathroom to the 
bedroom, and then Dunny’s nightly wail that he 
didn’t want to go to bed, followed by Sissy 
Mobo’s “Don’ wanna do to bed—Posey’s 
voice came in low crooning sounds. Then there 
was a mysterious thud. Dunny had run and 
jumped into his bed. Alden listened, amused. 

“ And did Silvery Hair eat up all the little baby 
bear’s pudding — ” Dunny shouted, inviting 
Posey for a story. 

“ Did she? ” came Sissy Mobo’s shrill little voice. 

“ Well, she almost did. She would have if the 
mamma bear and the papa bear and the little baby 
bear hadn’t come in just then — ” 

“ No, no, no, Posey, that isn’t it, ’cause when the 
mamma bear and the papa bear and the little baby 
bear come in, Silvery Hair was up in the little 
baby bear’s bed sound asleep — remember? ” 

“ Oh, yes, of course — ” 

Alden could hear Posey telling the good-night 
story as she moved about the bedroom. Later, on 
his way downstairs he peeped in at them. Dunny 
had fallen asleep. Sissy Mobo, heavy-eyed but 
smiling, was wiggling her small pink toes while 
Posey quoted the old nursery rhyme which she 
was obliged to repeat each night before the 
adorable little tyrant would consent to go to sleep. 

“ ‘ This little pig went to market, and this little 
pig stayed home — ’ ” 


CHAPTER XX 


While Tim and he were making plans for the 
removal of the cookhouse and bunkhouses to the 
new camp site that summer, Alden made a sudden 
and swift decision that he would not wait for the 
Legislature to pass the bills for which he had so long 
been expectant. One day he talked the matter over 
with Tim. 

“ I believe, Tim, that they have pigeon-holed 
that bill. Or it may be possible that some of these 
objectors here on the Harbor have gone up to 
Olympia and fought it until I have lost out. At 
any rate, it doesn’t seem as if those men up at the 
Capital have bothered their heads much about the 
matter at any time. Surely it would have gone one 
way or the other by now — ” 

Tim studied a moment. 

“ Well, say, let’s do as you said there last 
spring — let’s put her through on our own hook.” 

Alden’s eyes brightened. 

“ Would you be willing to try it out! ” 

“ Would I, sa-ay, you just bet your life I would, 
Dave — if for no other reason than to show them 
birds that the Alden Logging Company is not 
asleep.” 

“ Good! ” Alden became excited. “ Tim, there 
isn’t a favor in the world that you could grant me 
245 


246 


THE LOGGER 


which would please me as much.” He paused. 
“ And the time was never more ripe. Us putting 
in the new camp right away — suppose we equip 
it with steel beds, mattresses, baths, showers — ” 

Tim lifted a hand to interrupt him a moment. 

“ Excuse me just a minute. Say, listen, while 
we’re talking about it — Them lads here on the 
Harbor can shout all they damn please, but let me 
tell you,” Tim pointed a warning finger at Alden, 
“ them wobblies are getting too strong for ’em. 
And if they d,on’t clean up their camps free gratis 
pretty soon, the wobblies are going to see that they 
do. I don’t hang around the bunkhouses for 
nothin’, an’ it don’t take many minutes to see 
which way she’s going, either.” 

Alden looked at him earnestly. 

“ But you are willing to favor them that much, 
aren’t you? ” 

Tim nodded emphatically. 

“ You’re dam right, I am. An’ I think it’ll be a 
good joke on the other fellas to beat ’em to it.” 
He smiled. “ As you an’ I have said all along: the 
wobblies are right about forcin’ the loggers to clean 
up the camps—• Good God Almighty, when I 
I think of the way the poor damn lumberjacks have 
been livin’ all these years, why it gets a guy even 
as hard-crusted as I am.” Tim paused and 
reflected a moment. 

“It’s been them blankets, Dave, that has raised 
all the particular little hell,” he went on presently. 
“ A lumberjack never did have any business 


THE LOGGER 


247 


carryin’ his beddin’ wherever he went an’ him 
sleepin’ in every old dump he comes to, till he’s full 
of every kind of lice that was ever created. Good 
Lord, when you think of it !” 

Alden looked down at the ground. 

“ Yes, it is bad enough, just to think of.” 

“ Why only last week,” Tim continued, “ one of 
them foreigners that works down on the landing 
hadn’t been out on the works for a couple of days, 
an’ I got wondering about him. I knew he hadn’t 
gone, to town, but I’d been too busy to pay much 
attention to him. We’ve got ’em all in the little 
bunkhouse down by the toolhouse, you know.” 
Alden nodded. “ Well, every day I’d ask his 
friends or cousins or whatever they are, if he 
wasn’t able to go to work. They’d shake their 
heads an’ act kind of funny. Finally I told them 
if he was sick to have him sent to the hospital. 
One of ’em went straight up in the air. ‘ No, no, 
no, sick,’ he said. ‘ Be to work purty soon.’ ” 
Tim paused and observed Alden silently for a 
moment. 

“ Then I suppose you went over and found out 
for yourself — ” 

“ Did I! Say, when I went over to the bunk- 
house, that poor devil was sure in a hell of a shape. 
He’s a Lithuanian or Slovak or something — 
Anyway, he was diggin’ and clawin’ at himself like 
a crazy person. When I went over to him I thought 
he had gone bugs. When he kept on pawin’ around 
there, grabbin’ first his head an’ then his face an’ 


248 


THE LOGGER 


then his hands, I was sure of it. I asked him what 
was the matter. The poor cuss looked up at me like 
a man half dead. ‘ Too much, Mister,’ he says, 

‘ Too much. Too much,’ an’ he kept on with his 
digging.” 

“ What was the matter with him? ” asked Alden. 

“ Matter? You mean what wasn’t the matter — 
His face was covered with a two or three weeks 
growth of beard an’ you believe me or not, Dave, 
he was so full of lice that they were crawlin’ around 
in his beard. Lice a half an inch long, as true as my 
name is McAvoy. Why, the poor son-of-a-gun 
was a perfect hotbed of ’em. Well, you take it 
from me I hustled him down on the truck to the 
hospital next morning.” Tim paused. “ Know 
what was the matter with him? ” Alden shook his 
head. “ He was half dead with syphilitic rheuma¬ 
tism.” 

Alden turned pale. “ Tim! ” 

“ Yep. Fact. Well, all there was to do was to 
burn the old shack and I saw that the rest of the 
men that had been bunking in there washed every 
rag they had in a bichloride solution.” Tim turned 
to go. “ No, sir-e-e, we won’t get the right kind of 
sanitary conditions in our camps any too soon to 
suit me. The old way might have been all right 
when we had a class of lumberjacks that would 
keep clean for their own sense of decency. But in 
this day we’ve got too many men of all classes 
working in our camps.” 

The Sunday morning a bonfire was made of all 


THE LOGGER 


249 


the old blankets and bedding was a strange day in 
camp. Most of the loggers rejoiced in the clean-up. 
Others were not so enthused. The foreigners, many 
of whom could not speak English, did not seem to 
understand the action. Some of the old-timers were 
skeptical. Paddy McTigh was one of them. 

“ What’s the world cornin’ to, onyhow? It’s a 
hell of a note whin a man can’t have ’is say, even 
’bout ’is own property. All the most of us has got 
is our beddin’ an’ here is thot goin’ up in smoke.” 
He watched the great bonfire with sullen eyes. 
“ I—I can’t think they’s ony good cornin’ to Alden 
whin he’s takin’ up with these here new ways. I— 
I’m damned if I do — ” 

Mike Higgens’s ferret eyes snapped viciously. 

“I’m right with ye, Paddy.” 

“ And what’s more,” continued Paddy, “ they 
think they’re goin’ to git me in one o’ them bathtub 
things they got over there in the new camp — ” 
Paddy’s old head wagged from side to side. “ Not 
on yer life. I’ll see meself in hell first! ” He paused 
and spat at a stone lying in the road, then turned 
again to his colleagues. “ Think I’m goin’ to take 
any chance on one o’ them there contraptions — 
Why, I might injure meself fer life gittin’ into one 
of ’em. Slip an’ fall an’ break my damn neck.” 

Mike Higgens, Jim McGovern, Frank Hymer 
and old Cap Murry heartily agreed to this, and 
they all took a solemn oath that so long as they 
lived they would not be guilty of endangering their 
lives by getting into a bathtub. 


250 


THE LOGGER 


Because of the sudden and swift changes being 
made among them in the past several years, these 
five old men had been in a state of revolt. They 
often stole off to some secluded spot to talk 
matters over among themselves. Paddy was 
usually their spokesman. 

“ I’ll tell yez, she ain’t what she uset to be 
Them damn furriners an’ the wobblies have jist 
knocked hell out o’ ever’thing ’ ’ 

“ Yes, ’n’ most of ’em ain’t got sense enough tu 
know how tu gut a clam,” said Frank Hymer, 
“ let alone tryin’ tu be a logger.” 

“ A lot o’ them lads think they learned the 
loggin’ trade, fish slammin’ up in Alaska,” said old 
Cap Murry. “ That’s all they know ’bout it.” 

“ I tell ye, they don’t know that much,” said 
Jim McGovern. “ Them bohunks ain’t got no 
brains, their heads, are full o’ mush — ” 

Although the general feeling toward the for¬ 
eigners was not the brotherly spirit that it should 
be among the loggers, yet there were those among 
the younger men who were very much impressed 
by both the foreigners and the I. W. W.’s. Happy 
Lenon, Claude, Hoggens, Sky Pilot and others of 
the representative Americans in camp did listen to 
the I. W. W.’s and the radical foreigners who spent 
their evenings and Sundays raving about the 
injustice inflicted upon the workingman. 

Josef Hefferman, a German Jew and a radical, 
spent tireless hours explaining the socialistic 
theory and the principles for which it stood. Sky 


THE LOGGER 


251 


Pilot took to Hefferman’s speeches like a duck to 
water; so Happy Lenon said. He added socialism 
to his religious discussions; substantiating his 
statements by the argument that Christ was a 
socialist. 

Hoggens, on the other hand, became more 
interested in the I. W. W.’s. Shorter hours at his 
labor meant more time to devote to his beloved 
muse. Hoggens still wrote poetry with amazing 
sincerity. He never knew when he might have an 
inspiration; it often came to him during working 
hours, or even sometimes at meal time. Missing 
him on the works one day after the noon hour, 
Tim went in search of Hoggens. There had been a 
rush order and every man would have to put in 
every moment to get it out in time. 

Tim found Hoggens in the bunkhouse. Sitting 
before a table with a pencil in his hand, Hoggens’ 
thoughts were far away.’ Tim watched him from 
the door for a critical moment. 

“ Good God, Dreamer, don’t you know it’s long 
past time to get on the works? ” Hoggens lifted a 
swift warning hand, but did not look up. Instead 
he bent over his tablet and began to write furiously. 
Tim called again. At length, Hoggens paused and 
observed him as if from a far distance. 

“ Yes, yes, it’s all right, Tim — You just go on. 
In a moment I shall pursue you — ” 

Tim wanted to laugh at the little man’s serious¬ 
ness, but he pretended to be very angry. 

“ Well, you better pursue me pretty damn quick, 


252 


THE LOGGER 


or you’ll be pursuing yourself down the pike with 
your time check in your hand.” 

Since first the Alden Logging Works had started 
there had been cooks and cooks and cooks in the 
camp. Each cook had seemed a new and entirely 
individual character, but the latest one had proved 
the greatest enigma of them all. He was a most 
unusual person. 

He was a tall, lean man, with a horse face. So 
small and high up was his face, one wondered for a 
moment, when first looking at him, just where his 
eyes focussed. He often came into the bunkhouses 
and looked on during a card game. He told the 
men stories of his experiences during the early days 
up in the Alaska gold fields. He once confided that 
his life ambition had been to become a decorator; a 
decorator of what, he had not stated. But the men 
had learned to their dismay that since he had never 
realized this dream, he satisfied his artistic temper¬ 
ament by decorating food. Deep pink cake frosting 
seemed to be his mania. 

Not satisfied with frosting everything in the 
cookhouse which could legitimately be frosted, in 
his mad pursuit for expression, this cook strewed 
the tables and the floors with dabs which spilled 
from overflowing frosting pots. Great stacks of 
frosted cookies stood in tottering mounds on the 
serving tables. Pyramids of assorted cakes, 
gleaming like piles of pink-crusted snow, were 
stored in conspicuous places. 

“ Why, the damn fool is so looney over decorat- 


THE LOGGER 


253 


mg, as he calls it — I’d call it slaughter — that he 
even frosts the bread,” said Johnny Moran one 
night, “ an’ he dishes it up to us with some dang 
foreign name. We’ve got to eat it or do without — 
It’s a doggone wonder that that bird don’t frost the 
dumplings in his mulligans.” 

Five years had wrought a vast change in Frank 
Jerome. It seemed incredible that a man in his 
physical condition could keep up as he did, but it 
was beginning to be obvious that his nervous 
system was reaching the breaking point. Several 
times he had been caught in the act of using the 
needle on himself. Now it was no secret. All the 
men knew of it. 

“ Poor devil, it’s a damn shame,” said Happy 
Lenon one night when it had been observed that 
Jerome had left the bunkhouse twice during the 
evening. “ He’s a doggone good worker an’ a fine 
fella if it just wasn’t for that.” 

When Jerome returned the others pretended not 
to notice him patting his stomach and rolling his 
eyes in the manner of the drug addict. Jerome 
walked over to the stove. Now that his spirits had 
revived, he started out upon a long narrative 
regarding his one passion, card playing. 

“ Geemenally, I got in bad this time over in 
Skikomish. Sure did have hard luck. There was a 
guy from Spokane over there an’, sa-ay, I’m an old 
timer at blackjack, but that guy’s got anything I 
ever heard tell of backed off of the map. Gee¬ 
menally, some o’ the stunts that bird did pull! 


254 


THE LOGGER 


But where I got in bad was that I’d lost my wad 
’fore I got next to what he was handin’ us. 

“ But I had his number. I says to myself, I 
says: ‘ Now looka here, Frank, s’posin’ that fella 
is from Spokane, just remember that you’re from 
Mucldeteo, which is the Monte Carlo of the State 
of Washington. Without half tryin’ you c’n show 
him where you’re at an’ bag ’im shoes an all. I 
had borrowed a twenty from Benny Walker. I 
asked ’im for another’n. That was all I needed. 
I c’d o’ done it with five, but I didn’t want to be 
cheap — ” Jerome paused and observed his 
listeners with tragic earnestness. “ Say, what 
d’you s’pose happened. Didn’t ole Benny get up 
on his ear an’ refuse to stake me! 

“ ‘ No, sir-e-e, ’ he said, ‘ not another damn cent’ 
an’ I’d got to pay back the twenty I’d already 
borrowed. I ast ’im why an’ he made some excuse 
’bout business bein’ slack an’ he’d got to start 
economizin’. ‘ How’ll I pay you back? ’ I said, 

‘ unless you let me in on this game tonight? ’ 

‘ By good hard work,’ says Benny. Then he told 
me that ’is bartender had flew the coop an’ they 
was short o’ help in the dinin’ room. 

“ 4 But how the hell d’you expect me to tend bar 
an’ wait table at the same time? ’ I says. 4 Put on 
a pair o’ skates! ’ he yelled. 

44 You should o’ seen me. For two days I was 
shootin’ ’round there like my coat tail was on fire 
tryin’ to get Benny paid back so’s he’d stake me 
again.” Jerome shrugged. 44 Just as luck would 


THE LOGGER 


255 


have it, that damn bird flew the coop to Seattle 
with ever’ guy’s wad in town that had entered a 
game with him. I never did get a chance to get 
back at ’im.” Jerome sighed hopelessly. “ Well, 
s’pose that’s a gambler’s luck — ” 

One night Jerome tried some of the new tricks 
he had learned from the Spokane shark, on a 
number of the foreigners. When they came into 
the bunkhouse he whispered to Happy Lenon: 
“ Watch me clean up on the bohunks tonight.” 

It proved that they were not so dull as he 
expected. The first time he sluffed a card, it 
seemed to go unseen, but the second time Andrew 
Droshki, a big Russian Pole, reached over and, 
without a word, caught Jerome by the back of 
the neck. Before they had recovered from their 
surprise, he had yanked him out of his chair and 
dealt him a number of terrific blows. Not satisfied, 
he continued. Jerome’s nerves gave way. His eyes 
rolled and he twitched like a person with the St. 
Vitus dance, but the angry Pole would not give up. 
When Jerome reeled and started to fall, Claude, 
being nearest, interfered. 

“ Here, yu big stiff, what the hell’s the matter 
with yu! ” He threw out an arm to protect Jerome 
from another blow. “Can’t yu see you’ve got ’im 
bested? ” 

“ She’s a damn crook! ” bellowed the Pole, and 
he made for Jerome but, when at that moment 
Jerome fainted, he drew back in awe. “ What 
matter! What matter with she? ” 


256 


THE LOGGER 


As they carried Jerome to the air, Claude gave 
the bewildered foreigner one disdainful look. 

“What matter with her — ain’t yu got any 
brains? She’s a snow bird! ” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Alden had no objections to Horace Wainright’s 
frequent visits to his home. Instead, he almost 
welcomed the man’s presence there. Since Wain- 
right’s first call, Alden had noticed a change in 
Tesa. In fact the change dated back to the day of 
the Labor Day celebration in town, after which 
Tesa told him of meeting a former sweetheart from 
Chicago. 

He paid but little attention to this. Tesa was 
the type of woman who, after marriage, consider 
all former male acquaintances as having once been 
ardent admirers. Alden found himself even feeling 
sorry for Tesa. The coming of this friend proved 
how lonely she had been before. 

However, since her return from Chicago, Tesa 
had suffered herself to mingle more with the social 
set of Hoquiam and Aberdeen. The good road 
having gone in between Humptulips and the two 
towns, she did not feel herself so much of an exile. 
And Alden’s purchase of a magnificent Cadillac 
made it possible, if she chose, to rise in her own 
cozy east room of a morning and run down to the 
Grayport Hotel in Hoquiam or the Washington in 
Aberdeen and have breakfast. 

“ So different from the old days,” Alden some¬ 
times said. To which, for some obstinate reason, 
she chose to give no satisfactory reply. 

257 


258 


THE LOGGER 


Tesa learned that there was an inner circle 
among the social set of Hoquiam and Aberdeen 
who boasted their wealth and status with as proud 
a mien as those of the ultra-exclusive of Chicago. 

“But why not? ” Alden would often ask when 
she spoke insolently of this. Smiling bitterly she 
would return: 

“ Imagine those crude people having any idea 
of class, when most of them have sprung from the 
depths of poverty.” 

Exasperated, Alden gave up. 

“ No use. Autocracy is born and bred in Tesa’s 
bones. It is impossible to change her.” 

Proud of Wainright’s obvious marks of distinc¬ 
tion, Tesa introduced him into society at once, 
because she wished to show him off to the Gray’s 
Harborites. 

One night on their way home they were dis¬ 
cussing the affair of the evening. 

“ Imagine Mrs. Henderson actually admitting 
that she baked the cakes for her party tonight, 
just because Mrs. Smith flattered her about them. 
It shows how little breeding these people have. I 
should have at least pretended that they were 
prepared by a caterer, to have stood my ground 
with those wealthier women. Mrs. Henderson 
could not see how terribly patronizing Mrs. Smith 
was.” Wainright laughed. 

“ I find that the people of Hoquiam and Aber¬ 
deen are painfully democratic,” Tesa went on. 
“ They will accept persons into their circle without 


THE LOGGER 


259 


reference to family or social standing.” Here she 
sighed deeply. “Yet, what else can you expect of 
loggers? ” 

Wainright was silent. He was not especially 
interested in either the hostesses or their cakes. 
He was more concerned as to whether the chauffeur 
was sober enough to keep on the road, “ which is 
the crookedest piece of road on the globe,” he once 
pronounced. When they were leaving town he had 
gotten a whiff of the chauffeur’s breath, and it was 
strong with liquor. However, at three in the 
morning they reached Humptulips in safety. 

“ Through meeting you, I think the people here 
on the Harbor can see the class of people to which 
I have been accustomed,” said Tesa as she drew off 
her long gloves in the hall. 

Wainright smiled down at her meaningly. 

“You flatter me, Tesa.” 

“ I mean it.” 

Wainright was not unconscious of the commer¬ 
cial development of the new West. The logging 
industry was too much of an essential element to 
the mercantile trade to look upon it lightly. 
Insofar as he was not obliged to become a part of 
this great vital machine which took its place in 
turning the vast wheel of the world’s progress, he 
was willing to accept it at its face value. He even 
went so far as to investigate the numerous intricate 
cogs which turned this wheel about. 

One day he found himself out in the woods with 
Alden, who led him about the works explaining 


260 


THE LOGGER 


everything about the logging industry with infinite 
pride. While he talked on, Wainright felt himself 
beginning to admire this man who had once been 

his rival. . 

“ It surely required a world of stamina to leave 
an easy position such as he had in Chicago, and 
doubtless would have gained again, to strike out 
into the wilds as this man has done, he thought as 
he trudged behind Alden over logs and up skid 
roads and then into the deep forest.. 

They were on the hillside now looking down over 
the works. Alden turned and pointed to the timber 
back of them which was immediately so thickly set 
together that the perspective was lost,—like 
trying to penetrate the density of a fog bank. 

“ See that spruce and fir and cedar and hem¬ 
lock? ” Alden indicated the different species of 
trees; the fir and spruce reaching an average 
height of from two to four hundred feet and from 
four to eight feet at the trunk. Wainright nodded. 
“ There are thousands of acres of such timber to 
be moved right in this district.” 

Wainright studied for a moment. 

“ x got a good view of the timber belt of western 
Washington from the top of Mount Baldy — ” 

“ Yes, you would, wouldn’t you — ” Alden 
looked into the depths of the woods with a dreamy 
half-admiring gaze. “ There is a splendid future 
for some man here on Gray’s Harbor. Some man 
is going to become the logging king of this Pacific 
Northwest, and his opportunity lies right in this 


THE LOGGER 


261 


district. ” He looked at Wainright sharply. 
“ Have you ever noticed, Wainright, that in every 
issue in life there are but a few persons who reach 
the top of the ladder? Some blame Fate. Other call 
it luck. It is neither. It depends entirely upon the 
person himself. • I have learned that through my 
experience here in the West. And logging is but 
little different from any other walk of life. 

“ A man starting in the logging business, single- 
handed and alone, as I did, if he thoroughly under¬ 
stands his business and has his eyes open, with 
ordinary intelligence to learn and keep abreast 
with the times, will succeed the same as he will 
succeed in any other business. It is said that only 
three out of every hundred men prosper in any 
business. Yet that is purely their own fault. The 
Great Divinity has qualified every man and woman 
to make a success and it is up to them to do so —” 

Wainright laughed. 

“ We do not agree upon that point, Alden. I do 
not believe in a divinity. I am a materialist.” 

Alden paled slightly, but went on: 

“To a large degree I owe the success of the 
Alden Logging Company to my foreman and present 
general manager. Tim has been indispensable. 
When I started in, I knew nothing of the logging 
business. It was predicted by older loggers here on 
the Harbor that I would never make good. ‘ How 
can he,’ they said, ‘ when it is such a hard pull on a 
man who knows his business? 

“ You cannot blame them,” said Wainright, 


262 


THE LOGGER 


“it would look precarious to most anyone.” 

“ Yes. Well, I started right down at the root and 
studied the matter scientifically. I investigated 
the issue from every viewpoint. Every moment I 
had to spare, I did a bit of researching among the 
other camps. Instead of weighing the problem 
from the other man’s profits, I weighed it from his 
losses. I found most of them were making 
thousands of dollars — but why not? It was 
inevitable. 'It was like going into a river bed and 
gathering handfuls of gold where it flowed in 
torrents. 

“ I began to ask myself why, instead of making 
thousands — why these men were not making 
millions. Under the circumstances it was quite 
possible. And I worked upon the solution with 
the eye of an enthusiast, yet with the mind of one 
who attacks a proposition with cold logic and 
incisive thought. In a few months I began to see 
clearly, and all the while, by the aid of Tim, who 
is a highly intelligent fellow, I began to break 
through the crust. To use a logger’s term, we took 
the bull by the horns. Tim looks after the practical 
end of the business, he centralizes it. And I look 
after the financial end.” 

Wainright found himself growing interested as 
he listened to Alden. For a moment he was carried 
away by the influence of the other. 

“ One might not suppose how necessary it is to 
have a man like Tim. A dozen good men may work 
at a dozen cross purposes and all of them would be 


THE LOGGER 


263 


right to a certain degree, which would result in 
failure. But Tim looks after his part and I look 
after mine. If I am the head of my business, he is 
most assuredly the neck. There are other small 
stockholders in the company, but they take little 
interest outside of considering the net profits/’ 

While Alden continued, Wainright noticed how 
his eyes widened. It reminded him of the eyes of 
an artist friend in Chicago. When that friend 
became inspired, his eyes brightened, some said, 
as if his spirit was inflated and threatened to burst. 
In a sense of the word it did burst. At such times 
he would fly to his canvas and work like a madman 
until exhausted. 

This look in Alden’s eyes perplexed Wainright. 
He had always thought of trade as being something 
coldly matter-of-fact, colorless. But something 
about Alden’s manner indicated that there could 
in truth be quite a relationship between business 
and art. His artist friend had once told him that 
to become a successful artist in these days, one 
must be more or less of an executive. 

The day of starving in a garret was over. Unless 
a man went out and wrestled with the world at 
large for his rights, he would remain in his garret. 
Today the world does not run after you. You must 
run after it. 

“ Perhaps, then, to become a successful business 
man, one must be something of an artist, an ideal¬ 
ist,” Wainright concluded. 

The thought of the word idealist reacted upon 


264 


THE LOGGER 


Wainright’s mind like the harsh closing of a door 
upon a gentle breeze. He reprimanded himself. 
He had almost permitted himself to become 
sentimental. He — a materialist! 

“ Yes, yes,” he said abruptly to Alden, “ I find 
that very interesting, but aren’t we digressing? 
What I should like to know more about are the 
operations of the logging business. A few moments 
ago, you were speaking of a high lead or a sky line. 
I did not quite get your meaning. Just what is the 
difference? ” He tried not to see the hint of dis¬ 
appointment which reflected from Alden’s eyes. 
He laughed cynically to himself. 

“ The poor fool need not think he can bore me 
with that sentimental slush,” he thought, as he 
waited for Alden’s answer. “ That is what is 
eating the life out of Tesa. She wants realism. 
She has no desire to live with her thoughts sky 
high as he does. And he hasn’t the brains to see it. 
I can also see that he is too idealistic. I doubt his 
success.” 

Wainright tried to forget that but a moment 
before he was reflecting on what a noble fellow 
Alden was, and comparing him with himself. For 
a time it had made him realize what a cad he, 
himself, was. And still while he fought with his 
inner consciousness, the words of a great man who 
had spoken before a well-known art club of 
Chicago, came to him: 

“ I do not measure time by years. Time does 
not move. I am only in this sphere of develop- 


THE LOGGER 


265 


ment, and fully believe that what man or woman 
find to do they should: ‘ Do it with all their 
might,’; quotation from the great wise man 
Solomon. A man may be very enthusiastic about 
his work, but his thoughts ofttimes run in other 
channels that add pleasure and love to the devel¬ 
opment of his real life and soul. ‘The most mis¬ 
erable of all creatures on earth are the idle —’ ” 
Wainright remembered how he had winced at this 
statement — “ who seem to find nothing to do —” 

The supreme light had gone out of Alden’s eyes. 
He was himself again, the logger, the worker, when 
he replied to Wainright’s question. 

“Well, it is this way: if the ground is not too 
rough on the hills we set out a high lead block on 
the top of a tall tree. It has a tendency to lift the 
logs over trees and stumps and rubbish and to pull 
them upward, besides keeping them from running 
through the chokers. The sky line, on the other 
hand, is operated from a spile tree at both ends, 
which picks up the logs and carries them across 
canyons. This, however, is a very expensive 
logging proposition and also extremely dangerous. 

“ There is danger from the time the spile tree 
man climbs the tree and tops it and the rigging is 
slung. Sometimes the spile tree breaks or often a 
defective line will let go. I believe I am correct 
when I say that more men are killed by this than 
by any other logging device.” 

“You are not using the sky line, are you?” 
asked Wainright. 


s 


266 THE LOGGER 

Alden shook his head. 

“ No, and we will not have to. We can get along 
with the high lead. Our ground is not rough 
enough at this time, and will not be for a number 
of years, to guarantee a sky line. If we were to 
purchase one, we would have to have a special 
crew. The average logger does not understand 
it — ” 

“ And it being very dangerous, I suppose a man 
must know his business.” 

“ Absolutely. Moreover, we are fortunate in 
having most of our timber in the valley.” 

Wainright asked Alden to tell him about a 
splash. 

“ A splash is where the river is dammed until a 
large head of water is reserved for floating out the 
logs when it is needed. At such a time the flume 
planks are pulled and the river bank flooded. This 
floats the logs out as they would during a freshet. 
The secret of running logs down, a crooked river is 
to keep them from forming jams. Men have 
worked for days sacking the river and rolling the 
logs out into the deep water to keep them floating. 
This work is not only very laborious, but also 
dangerous. Some of our boys will ride logs and go 
through the very jaws of death — ” 

“ And then what becomes of the logs? ” 

“ Before leaving the woods the logs are branded, 
just as cattle are branded before sending them to 
the stockyards. Each company’s brand is care¬ 
fully registered. All these logs are rafted together 


THE LOGGER 


267 


and they are not separated until they get to the 
mills. Sometimes the logs of twenty different com¬ 
panies are boomed together and driven in a splash 
at one time.” 

“ Are there ever any logs lost? ” 

“ Indeed there are. Sometimes they jam and 
jump the banks. This happened to us last fall. 
We had to send the small yarder down to pull them 
into the river so that they would go out in the next 
splash.” 

Wainright asked if there would be another splash 
soon. 

“ I should like to see one.” 

“ Yes, the men up on the east and the west fork 
are talking of having one, but how soon, I cannot 
say.” 

Wainright was silent for a time. Presently, he 
said: 

“ It appears very much as you say, Alden, 
success in this line is almost inevitable. A man 
could scarcely help but succeed — ” 

Alden lifted his hand hastily. 

“ No, that is not altogether true. I think per¬ 
haps I did not make myself clear at this point. 
The logging business is considered one of the 
biggest gambles of any industry in the world. 
There are those who work at it a lifetime, and in 
the end hardly come out with a decent living. 
Plenty of difficulties may rise to ruin them finan¬ 
cially. For instance, I know one man who lost 
every cent he had when twenty-two thousand 


268 


THE LOGGER 


dollars’ worth of logs went high and dry for him. 
An unusually high freshet carried them away up 
over the bank. They were backed up so far that 
it would mean more expense than the logs were 
worth to yard them out again. 

“ There have been numerous times when the 
water was so high in the river that the boom has 
broken, the logs got away and floated clear out of 
the Harbor and into the Pacific Ocean. One of the 
most important points in logging is the great pre¬ 
caution which must be taken in the care of the 
booms.” 

When they returned to the works, Alden looked 
for Tim. He stopped to talk with Tim, and Wain- 
right sauntered on, half wishing that Alden would 
not follow. The experience of the afternoon had 
affected him strangely. It reminded him that he 
did have a keen conception of things as they 
should be, when he opened his mind to it. The 
talk with Alden proved to him how much, in the 
past years, he had shut fundamentals out of his 
life. 

Reflecting on the matter, while he strolled along 
the smooth, brown road, he was disturbed by the 
influence Alden had had over him. This glimpsing 
visions of high and lofty places in the sun brought 
back moments during his boyhood before he had 
trained himself in the bitter, yet wholly fascinat¬ 
ing, school of materialism. 

“ I am going to keep away from Alden after, 
this,” he concluded sullenly. “ Tesa is far more on 


THE LOGGER 


269 


my own plane. Besides being a beautiful woman 
with whom I may brighten my stay here in the 
West, she is also — a safety valve — ” He crossed 
the bridge. “ Yes, for a few hours, until I am quite 
sure I have regained my mental equilibrium — I 
dislike admitting to myself that I had lost it for a 
moment — I do want to be very much alone.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


“ I’ll tell you, Posey, it’s jist somethin’ awful the 
way folks are talkin’ ’bout Mis Alden an’ her 
goin’s on with that swell feller she claims she uset 
to know back there in the East.” 

Aunt Sally Mullen scrutinized Posey severely; 
almost as if she thought Posey to blame for Tesa 
Alden’s indiscretions. Wagging her head from 
side to side, she clucked like an old mother hen 
enthused over the finding of a welcome tidbit. 

“ Can’t fool me. From the first time I ever laid 
eyes on ’er I always said that woman was a 
strumpet.” Aunt Sally sneered. “ Mother Mc¬ 
knight always upholdin’ ’er an’ you livin’ right 
in the same house with ’er, an’ then you mean to 
stand there an’ try to tell me she’s a good woman. 
Needn’t try to make me b’lieve you’re blind—” 
Posey’s lips pressed tightly together. She 
wanted to tell Aunt Sally that her silence was not 
for Mrs. Alden. It was for him. Yet she deter¬ 
mined that the Aldens’ private affairs should not be 
exposed through her. She stood obstinately silent 
while Aunt Sally rattled on. 

“ She ain’t got a thing under the sun to do. 
They ain’t a woman in Hoquiam or Aberdeen 
that’s got more servants. She jist trapses ’round 
like some flip girl that ain’t got a care in the 
270 


THE LOGGER 


271 


world. Folks is also talkin’ ’bout the way she 
neglects them little young ones o’ her’n. Jist the 
other day right here in the store, Mis Udell says: 
'Aunt Sally,’ she says, ‘ you can’t tell me that 
they’s a person on earth that can look out fer your 
own young ones like you would yourself—’ ” 

Posey did not like this. It was a reflection on her. 

“ I’ll have you know, Aunt Sally, that I take 
care of Dunny and Sissy Mobo, and I take good 
care of them, too. Send anybody to me that says 
they are neglected.” 

Aunt Sally’s eyes snapped. 

“ How’s it happen then that they’ve been 
picked up down by the river a half o’ dozen times? 
Them little young ones are goin’ to be drowned 
yet, now you mark my words.” 

A sudden fear froze Posey’s heart. She gave 
Aunt Sally an agonizing look. 

“ Well, nobody’s blamin’ you, so you needn’t 
get cut up about it.” 

“ I don’t care whether they blame me or not. 
But you can tell them for me that as long as I 
live there nothing will happen to Dunny and 
Sissy Mobo.” 

Aunt Sally nodded. 

“ Maybe so. But so far as their addle-pated 
mother is concerned they’d be more neglected 
than the poorest poor in Humptulips. Course, 
it’s her affair ’bout her own children, but it’s our 
affair ’bout her cuttin’ up with this man — It’s 
a disgrace.” 


272 


THE LOGGER 


“ But you mustn’t think wrong things about 
her, Aunt Sally.” 

Aunt Sally flushed angrily. 

“Mmmm — I mustn’t, mustn’t I? How ’bout 
the things she said ’bout us? I guess I’ve got a 
right to get it back on ’er if I’m a mind to. Maybe 
she can fool people that wants to be fooled, like 
you an’ Mother McKnight, but I know a few 
things? ” Aunt Sally smacked her lips. “ I know 
people! An’ I know that sometimes them proud 
an’ haughty appearin’ women ain’t always so 
proud an’ haughty when they ain’t no one lookin’.” 

A flood of anger swept Posey. For a moment 
she wanted to reach across the counter and catch 
Aunt Sally by her fat, wrinkled throat and throttle 
her. Too distracted even to quarrel, she got out 
of the store as quickly as possible. 

“ It isn’t that I care so much for Mrs. Alden,” 
she told herself as she climbed the hill. “ It isn’t 
that — But how can people say such awful 
things about each other? Just how can they! ” 

Arriving home, Posey found Tesa and Wain- 
right just leaving for Hoquiam. The President of 
the Lumberman’s Bank was giving a reception at 
his home that evening in honor of a distinguished 
guest from the East. The invitation was extended 
to Mr. and Mrs. Alden. Alden was attending a 
conference in Portland. He would be unable to 
be at the reception and also, much to Tesa’s regret, 
a banquet given at the Grayport several nights 
later by the wealthy loggers of Gray’s Harbor. 


THE LOGGER 


273 


Tesa was good company. Therefore she always 
received pressing invitations to all the social func¬ 
tions. Although there was a bit of gossip attached 
to her being seen so much in public with Wain- 
right, yet they each added so much color to any 
affair they attended, they were always made 
welcome. 

Tesa no longer held herself aloof from the social 
set of Hoquiam and Aberdeen. She entered into 
the spirit of their gay whirl and threw every atom 
of her energy into the gay afternoon affairs, late 
suppers, dances, night rides, card parties. No one 
suspected but what she was the happiest woman 
on Gray’s Harbor, unless he were keen enough to 
suspect the superficial merriment which her manner 
portrayed. 

Since the night she told Alden the truth regard¬ 
ing her feelings toward him, they had become 
somewhat estranged. His absence from home so 
much of the time made this estrangement more 
possible. He no longer sought her sympathy and 
interest in his affairs. Spiritually they grew 
farther and farther apart. 

Yet the very condition of the relationship 
between himself and his wife made Alden more 
keen and alert in a business way. The fact that 
she did not conceive the truth that a large per cent 
of his effort was for the sake of herself and their 
children did not seem to discourage him. Knowing 
now that she would never be reconciled to having 
been taken from the life to which she had long been 


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accustomed, his chief desire was to bring matters 
about so that she could return to that life. 

He was still uncertain just how this would come 
about, for he remained resolute against her securing 
a divorce. He detested a law which granted a 
divorce just because a man and woman no longer 
desired to live together. The entire plan was 
shameful and grounded upon false principles. It 
was cowardice. Those who sought divorce merely 
to escape the unpleasant tasks of natural law so 
that they might follow their own selfish pursuits, 
were not brave enough to face life as it truly was 
and play the game squarely. Because there were 
exceptions, then the great majority of divorce 
seekers tried to establish weak excuses in their 
case 

One night Tesa was bantering him into consent¬ 
ing to set her free. 

“ Why not try to find yourself, Tesa. Perhaps if 
you thought the matter over sanely, instead of 
submitting to flighty fancies, you might readjust 
your life to mine without too much difficulty.” 

Tesa shook her head. 

“ One has no desire to readjust his life to that of 
a person one does not love.” 

Alden lqoked at her a moment steadfastly. 

“Just what do you call love? ” 

Tesa returned his glance with a strange gleam in 
her eyes. For the first time since Wainright had 
come into their midst, Alden had a faint suspicion 
that, perhaps, she was becoming enamored with 


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275 


this former sweetheart; as she insisted upon calling 
him. He resented the forced, unnatural, almost 
sensuous sound of her voice when she replied to his 
question. 

“ Love — love is — romance.” 

“ Ah, there you have it. False principles again. 
There is nothing in romance but imagination. It 
is founded upon child’s play, the seeking after 
artificiality — ” 

Tesa interrupted. 

“ And ideals.” She laughed. “ How strangely 
you talk tonight. One might suspect, David, that 
your pompous pedestal of idealism was threatening 
to fall.” 

What she said did not frustrate him. 

“No, Tesa, it is not threatening to fall. On the 
contrary, it is more substantial than ever before. 
I am now beginning to know life.” 

She lifted an impatient hand. 

“ But we were talking of love. Why digress? 
You asked me — now I ask what you call love? ” 
She smiled sarcastically. 

Alden straightened up suddenly, as if to 
strengthen his fortitude against the jest she hurled 
at him. 

“ Love, first and foremost, is service to our fel- 
lowmen and to those near and dear to us — ” 

Tesa was dismayed. She shrugged impatiently. 

“ Oh, dear me, will you never get over that old 
tirade. If you but knew how boring it is — ” She 
paused to smile mockingly at him. “ Come to 


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think of it, you and I never did have a wild love 
affair. It has, in truth, been very tame from 
beginning to end.” Throwing out her arms Tesa 
waved them hopelessly and then, clasping her 
hands behind her head, observed Alden insolently. 
“ I mean one of those sort of tempestuous affairs 
which end in riotous abandon. You know — ” 
She studied for a moment. “ This desire I have 
may be a sort of reaction from all these years of 
exile. Or it may be a safety valve to keep me from 
going insane. At any rate there are times when I 
find the primordial instinct surging within me until 
I am desperate. Oh, how I yearn to fall deeply in 
love — just once.” 

Her manner was so ridiculous that Alden 
thought her joking. 

“ You might fall in love with your husband.” 

Tesa drew herself up quickly. 

“ Impossible.” 

The irony of her voice brought him to realize 
how truly in earnest she was. 

“ Tesa, such motives as you refer to are unbe¬ 
coming to a woman of your station. Remember 
you are a wife and a mother. What you talk of is 
infatuation; purely physical attraction. Indeed I 
regret to say it, but physically you would not 
endure long with such an affair as the one to 
which you refer — ” 

She looked at him beneath lowered lids. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Just what I say. Once another man had sought 


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277 


the recesses of your heart, and he found the same 
unresponsiveness that I found — ” 

Tesa’s eyes widened. 

“ Don’t be too certain of that! Perhaps the 
reason you found only coldness is because you 
were not capable of stimulating warmth.” Dis¬ 
tracted, Tesa rose and walked to the window. For 
a time she looked out into the darkness. After a 
time she turned and cast a vicious glance in the 
direction of Alden. The very manner in which he 
sat calmly smoking roused her bitterly. 

“ When, oh, when will this end! ” she asked 
herself. In that moment she felt as if she had never 
hated him so much as she did then. She wanted to 
fight. She could scratch his eyes out. His very 
calmness made her more furious than if he would 
quarrel, or even go so far as to strike her. 

The afternoon that Tesa left with Wainright, her 
face glowing with smiles, Posey thought of the 
moods she was so often in of late. Her spirits were 
high when Wainright was about, but between his 
visits so great was her anxiety that she seemed to 
be more cross and irritable than ever. 

“ I don’t think Mr. Wainright is doing much 
trapping,” thought Posey as she watched how 
carefully he helped Tesa into the car. He posed as 
assuming a detached air, but it was plainly evident 
that beneath this pose he was greatly concerned 
over the welfare of his lady. “ He was supposed to 
spend the winter trapping with Charley Mitchell, 
but he is here most of the time.” 


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As she walked away from the window, Posey 
thought of a recent conversation with Tesa. She 
had learned more in that brief intimacy than any¬ 
thing which had previously occurred to reveal 
Tesa’s true regard of her husband. 

Alden was away, and it was one of the nights 
when Wainright was not present. Posey was read¬ 
ing an interesting story, but Tesa sat with her 
hands folded in her lap and her eyes absently upon 
the fire. Posey was too deeply engrossed in her 
story to sense anything unusual in the air. In fact 
there was nothing unusual. This had been Tesa’s 
accustomed manner for some time. Presently, 
Tesa sprang to her feet, and beat her fists together. 

“ Oh, horrors, when I think how I am wasting 
my life in this dreadful place — it is maddening! ” 

Posey looked up calmly. 

“ Is this place so dreadful? ” 

Tesa gave her a disdainful look. 

“ Not to some people, no — of course not —” 

Posey might have been hurt by the suggestive¬ 
ness of Tesa’s voice, had she not been so amazed at 
her manner. 

“ Well, I suppose when one has never known any 
place but this — ” she began, but cut herself short. 
“ But don’t you think maybe if a person tried real 
hard, no matter how awful the place was, you could 
make yourself happy anyway if you knew it was 
for the best — ” 

Tesa looked at her as if she but half heard what 
she was saying. 


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279 


“ Yet if one knew they could live in a much more 
satisfactory place and could have married a far 
more desirable and intelligent man— ” 

For a moment Posey was beside herself. Jump¬ 
ing up from her chair, she faced Tesa vehemently. 
She felt that she would like to do something to 
spoil those lifeless marble features of the woman 
before her. Yet, upon second thought, she won¬ 
dered if she had misunderstood Tesa or heard 
wrong. Her anger cooled. 

“ Mrs. Alden you don’t mean that you might 
have married some one better — ’ ’ She looked 
half frightened as she gazed into Tesa’s eyes, 
searching for the truth. “No, no, you couldn t 
have meant it, because — because there isn’t a man 
in this whole world as wonderful as Mr. Alden 1 ” 



























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■ 


























■ 












































BOOK IV 

TO HIM IS GIVEN 





























































* 









CHAPTER XXIII 


One afternoon late in autumn Posey found 
herself, for some reason, strangely wrought up. 
All day she had gone about with a feeling that 
she could hardly endure to stay in the house. She 
•felt depressed, suffocated. Before it was time to 
give the children their evening meal and put them 
to bed, she took them for a walk. They scampered 
along the road like two playful young animals; 
Dunny doing droll little antics to excite Sissy 
Mobo to squeals of joy. 

Posey could not enter into the spirit of then- 
mirth this day. Everything about her seemed 
touched with unreality, as if she were a being 
vastly detached from it all. She looked upon the 
foliage of the jackpine and the Oregon grape and 
the wild fern of the prairie, brilliant from the 
recent rain, and tried to be influenced by its 
beauty. Across the prairie the maple trees in 
the woods were tinted with their autumn colors, 
now changed from lustrous scarlet and brown 
and deep yellow to more subdued tones. Posey 
sighed as she looked upon them. Soon the leaves 
would drop off and then winter would set in with 
its long and monotonous rains. Posey shuddered. 

“ What has come over me that makes me feel 
like the dying leaves? ” she asked herself as she 
283 


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trudged after the children. “ Ugh! ” She hurried 
to catch up with Dunny who had run on ahead to 
pluck a late wild flower which had thus far escaped 
the season’s frosts. 

He held the flower up for Posey to see, his face 
glowing with pleasure. As if taking on her mood, 
presently Dunny too became meditative. But he 
was like that. He would change in a moment from 
a mood of ecstatic joy to one of deepest melancholy. 

The sky had always been a never-ending 
mystery to Dunny. As if he had not asked the 
same question dozens of times before, he pointed 
skyward and looked at Posey. 

“ What’s up there? ” 

“ That’s the sky.” 

He frowned thoughtfully. 

“ I know, but what’s in it. What’s it made of ? ” 

This was a hard question. Posey hesitated. 

“ Well, the sky is just space — and then there 
are lots of worlds up there like this one.” 

This puzzled Dunny. He twisted his small face 
and craned his neck as if to search for those other 
worlds. 

“ And do people live in the other worlds? ” 

“ Do people wiv in ’em? ” echoed Sissy Mobo. 

Posey nodded. 

“ Well, yes, maybe — and remember I told 
you God lives up in the sky —” 

The two children nodded gravely. Sissy Mobo 
looked long and earnestly upward. 

“ I don’t see ’im, ” she said presently. 


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285 


“ But you can’t, Sissy Mobo,” said Dunny, 
“ ’cause He lives far, far away.” With his small 
hands clasped behind his back Dunny turned to 
Posey again. “ And when people die do they go 
up there? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Meditating for a moment, presently he lifted 
solemn eyes to Posey. 

“ And if me and Sissy Mobo died, would we go 
up there, too? ” 

“ Oh, Dunny, don’t say such things! ” Tears 
sprang to Posey’s eyes. She darted down and 
swept the two children into her arms. “ Don’t 
ever talk that way again, Dunny! ” 

He drew away and looked at her strangely. 

“ Why? ” 

Posey held him close. 

“ Oh, because, Dunny, because—” She could 
not go on. Rising she clasped a small, plump hand 
in each of hers and led them back home. 

When she was putting him to bed, Dunny threw 
his arms about her and nestled his head against 
her breast. 

“I — I’m sorry I made the cry come for you, 
Posey —” 

“ And you won’t ever say sad things again, 
Dunny? ” 

He shook his head and then lay back upon his 
pillow. Posey did not leave them that night 
until she had repeated the good-night story over 
and over until they could no longer keep their 


286 


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eyes open. They were sleeping soundly when she 
drew the covers up to the sweet little faces and 
went away. 

Alone in the living-room below, she again 
became obsessed with melancholy. Picking up a 
novel she had been reading, she tried to con¬ 
centrate her mind upon it, but the words were 
meaningless, the lines blurred. She put a record 
on the phonograph. She had not noticed which 
one it was. When the disconsolate notes of the 
Traumerei filled the room, she was strangely 
fascinated. Never had they appealed to the 
profound depths of her soul as these notes did 
this night. They stirred her as the sound of the 
wind stirred her when as a child she would steal 
out of doors at night and listen to it blowing 
through the trees. Remembrance of her child¬ 
hood brought her father to her mind. A bitter 
remembrance, yet filled with unusual and tender 
pathos. 

Posey had not heard from her father, except 
indirectly, for many months. She was told that 
he had been drinking heavily of late. This hurt 
her. She had hoped that he might stop sometime 
before it was too late. Tonight, instead of thinking 
of him critically, she found herself pitying her 
father. 

“ After all, he’s the only father I’ve got. He’s 
really all I’ve got—” This thought seemed to 
sweep her with a new and more vital meaning. 
“ Why — why, I never thought of it in just that 


THE LOGGER 


287 


way before.” She rose and went over to the 
window to look out into the darkness. Suddenly 
a frenzied desire took posession of her that she 
wanted to see him; at once. She moved away 
from the window as if she would immediately 
put on a hat and coat and go to him. But on 
second thought she remembered that that was 
hardly possible. Both Mr. and Mrs. Alden were 
away from home. 

Posey returned, to the fireplace and sat down 
before it. The record played out. She rose to 
shut off the machine. She did not play any more, 
but returned to her seat and sat watching the 
flames leap up the chimney. Yet, even though 
her interest was arrested by the blaze, she moved 
about nervously in her chair. She could not sit 
still. Her eyes wandered about the room. Her 
gaze fell upon the pictures upon the wall; three 
very fine paintings done in oil, and a number of 
smaller water colors. 

Posey studied them thoughtfully. Her favorite 
was a copy of Rosa Bonheur’s — she did not 
know the name — but it was an animal study. 
The second was a copy of a Rembrandt. She 
did not know who the other was by, but it was an 
original painting by an artist who was still 
living. 

While she looked upon the paintings, it came to 
Posey what a gorgeous spectacle the beautiful 
things of the Alden home made on her drab life; 
as the handsome Alden house made a gorgeous 


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spectacle of brilliant color against the dull-green 
forest background. 

Studying the elaborate furniture of the room, 
the heavy silken draperies emphasized by a 
number of ornamental statuettes and two great 
Satsuma vases, Posey wondered why Tesa could 
not be happy. The contrast of her home with 
that of the others of Humptulips should remind 
her how much more fortunate she was than others. 
Posey thought of what Mother McKnight had 
once said when they were talking of the subject. 

“ The reason Mrs. Alden doesn’t appreciate 
what she has is because she has never known 
what it was to do without. Some rich people are 
like that.” 

Suddenly becoming argumentative, Posey 
addressed an invisible audience. 

“ If they only knew what it was not to have a 
thing in the world, only enough clothes to cover 
them, why, then maybe they’d appreciate what 
they have. Mother McKnight says that’s the 
way the world goes, and she lets it go at that. 
She believes that there will be a way of evening 
things up on the other side—” Deeply moved, 
Posey rose and for a time strode furiously about 
the room. 

Presently she drew up before the massive 
library table and looked down upon the row of 
books reposing carelessly between the heavy 
wrought copper ends. “ I don’t believe it! ” she 
said fiercely, as if addressing the books. “ I believe 


THE LOGGER 


289 


there ought to be a way of evening things up on 
this side. When they who have everything don’t 
appreciate what they’ve got, and then they who 
want haven’t got anything—” She unconsciously 
brought her fists down upon the table. “ No sir, 
there’s something wrong somewhere. 

“ Mother McKnight says it’s all material 
desire for the things of the flesh, and that these 
desires aren’t real, that this life is just a dressing 
room for the true spiritual life beyond the 
grave —” 

As if her melancholia had taken a sort of 
reaction, wild impulses surged Posey; maddening 
impulses, that were poignant with desire, desire 
for what, she knew not, but she was conscious of 
being swept by a great and impelling force. 

“ If desires for the things of the flesh aren’t 
right, then what are we given them for? 

“ I believe I’m what Mr. Wainright calls 
himself, a materialist. Because I do like material 
things. But why can’t you like both? If you 
aren’t s’posed to like these things, then why did 
Mr. Alden teach me to love books and music 
and all the grand things that you can’t have 
when you’re poor—” 

Suddenly a fearful thought came to her mind. 
She could not go on always as she was now living. 
Some day she must leave the Aldens. It must 
end somewhere, sometime. And after that what 
should she do? 

Here was tragedy, stark and terrible. After 


290 


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these years of living in luxury she must some day 
return to the old life. Mother McKnight once 
told her that that was the calamity of poor people 
going to live with the rich. 

Flinging herself upon the divan, Posey buried 
her face in the pillows and wept. Yet while she 
lay there, it came to her that Alden had given her 
something which was greater than just the 
appetite for luxury. He had given her something 
which could not be taken away from her, and, 
planted deep in her heart, it would never die, 
no matter how far away she wandered from the 
years she had spent in his home and under his 
influence. 

She did not know how long she had lain there, 
when there came a knock at the door. For a 
moment she was frightened. What could any one 
want at that time of the night? The knock was 
repeated. She hastened to see who the caller 
might be. When she opened the door, Happy 
Lenon stood before her. 

Why, Happy! ” she exclaimed eagerly. But 
something about his manner caused her to draw 
back. “ What’s wrong, Happy? ” 

Happy removed his hat and fumbled with it for 
a moment. 

“ Posey — I — I’ve got bad news for you.” 

Her eyes widened. 

“ For me? ” 

Happy nodded. 

“ Ole Cap is awful sick. He’s bad off. He’s 


THE LOGGER 


291 


callin’ for you. I think you better come over right 
away — right now —” He paused as Posey looked 
at him, bewildered and suffering. He was sur¬ 
prised. He had supposed that she had no love for 
her father. Now he wondered. Posey asked if he 
were at home or in camp. 

“ He’s up at the camp. I’ve got a horse out here 
for you — ” 

Posey asked him to come in and wait for her. 
She rushed upstairs to ask the servants if they 
could look after the children while she was gone. 
She went into the nursery to see that everything 
was all right before she joined Happy. 

On their way over to camp they talked but little. 
Posey rode along in silence. Happy told her that 
her father had been on a drunk for over a week, and 
had had another spell of delirium tremens. This 
one had been the most terrible one he had ever 
had. Missing him from camp, some one had gone 
over to the shack and found him. The boys had 
tried to sober him up, but he was in such a weak¬ 
ened condition that they were afraid to cut him 
off from whiskey altogether. 

“ I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Posey. I 
think Ole Cap’s on his last legs. Don’t — don’t 
be too surprised if he has cashed in by the time 
we git there.” Happy paused a moment and 
waited, but when she said nothing in return, he 
went on: “ We tried to git him out to town yester¬ 
day, but he’s too weak. We didn’t think he could 
stand the trip.” 


292 


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“ Why didn’t you let me know about him 
before? ” asked Posey. 

“ Well, we knew if we couldn’t do nothin’, you 
couldn’t. Then we all thought it was all over with 
you an’ yer ole man — ” 

“ But — he’s my father, Happy — ” 

Happy tapped the horn of his saddle with the 
end of his quirt. 

“ Well, yeah — you’re right ’bout that, Posey.” 

Since the camp had become crowded, the old 
men had a bunkhouse to themselves. Paddy 
McTigh and Jim McGovern had taken Old Cap 
Murry in with them. When Posey arrived, the 
four faithful friends were sitting beside the bunk 
where her father lay. They all looked up at her 
with deepest sympathy, but no one spoke for a 
time. There was, however, much furious blowing 
of noses into red bandanas. Posey crept quietly 
toward them. 

“ How is Pa? ” she asked eagerly. 

Paddy McTigh shook his head. 

“ He ain’t ravin’ like he was, but I’m a thinkin’ 
he’s a lot weaker.” 

“ Then he’s still alive! ” 

Paddy nodded. He motioned Posey to a seat. 
At sight of Posey Jim McGovern, shaking his iron 
grey head from side to side, rose and made for the 
door. Paddy looked after him in righteous 
indignation. 

“ Whin it comes to carin’ fer the sick, that no¬ 
good Irishman ain’t worth a damn.” Paddy 


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293 


jerked a thumb toward the door. “ Instead o’ 
helpin’ care fer Ole Cap, he’s spent most o' his time 
fer the last three days weepin’ behind stumps — ” 

Posey drew nearer her father. She was horrified 
by his swollen and distorted features. From time 
to time he kept up an incessant and unintelligible 
chatter, and at intervals tried to raise himself, but 
he was too weak. He flung out his arms and some¬ 
times looked wildly about him. 

Posey stationed herself by her father, where she 
sat looking upon the wreck of what was once a vital 
human being. Jim came in again and went to sit 
beside her. He patted her comfortingly on the 
shoulder. 

“ It’s all right, Posey. Don’t ye feel sad, girl — 
Ole Cap’s goin’ to git up agin an’ ever’thing will be 
all right — ” 

Posey shook her head and wept silently. 

It was plain to see that her father was sinking 
fast. Several times he rallied. Once he opened his 
eyes rationally and recognized Posey, but he 
immediately went off into delirium again. Often 
they thought he was gone altogether, but presently 
he would rise up and protest against the dreadful, 
unseen force which seemed to obsess him. 

About three o’clock he opened his eyes and, ris¬ 
ing on his elbow, held a trembling hand out to 
Posey. An almost supernatural light blazed in his 
eyes, and his manner was like that of a tree which 
never seems so staunch, in all the years it has stood, 
until that moment before the gash hewn into its 


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heart renders it to earth. Those who stood around 
Old Cap Murry knew that his mind was clearer 
than it had been for days. 

“ Posey! Posey! ” he cried. “ I alius taught yu 
that there ain’t nothin’ after this life. It — it’s a lie! 
I— I jist seen ’Im. There is a God! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Horace Wainright paused in the act of lifting a 
forkload of green peas to his mouth. With the fork 
poised half way between his plate and his mouth, 
he stopped and observed Alden. 

“ But, David, I have found that in this life we 
must either follow the crowd or cast off in another 
direction. It is useless to try to walk alone among 
the multitudes.” With a significant smile Wain- 
right bore the peas to their journey’s end and then 
laid his fork back upon his plate. 

Tesa laughed. 

“ Oh, Horace, he doesn’t understand you at all. 
Dave is too old-fashioned, too mid-Victorian to be 
aware that we are approaching an age in which 
sentimentality is taboo.” 

Disregarding her, Alden turned to Wainright. 

‘‘No, I admit, Mr. Wainright,” — he always 
avoided the familiarity of calling him Horace — 
“ I admit that your meaning is slightly vague to 
me — ” 

Wainright regarded him thoughtfully for a 
moment. 

“ What I mean is that you are too serious, I 
might add, too high-minded for this age. You have 
your wagon hitched to a star, but you might at 
least drag your heels upon the ground.” 

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Alden waved this aside. He toyed with his salad 
for a time. 

“ As to your reference of my motives not fitting 
this particular age,” he said presently, “ I have no 
desire to adjust my way of thinking to any par¬ 
ticular age. Furthermore, it does not matter to me 
whether I follow the crowd or whether I walk 
alone. I believe that one’s train of thought is a 
result of the experience one has had and the life 
one has lived, rather than a set rule which must be 
appropriate from one decade to another. 

“ Surely we cannot compare so momentous an 
issue as the train of one’s thoughts with the sleeves 
of a lady’s gown, which yesterday were leg-o’- 
mutton, today are another thing and tomorrow are 
something else.” 

Wainright smiled. 

“Yet you will admit that thought-waves have 
universal unity — If not, there would be no wars. 
All fads and fashions are set by a few strong minds 
preying upon the weak ones.” 

Alden nodded. 

“Yes, I agree that ideas, conditions, certain 
situations are not only directed to individuals and 
to certain localities. They are universal, that is 
true. Vital changes do most emphatically some¬ 
times affect an entire nation. But I still hold that 
there can be the exception. I boast that my way of 
thinking is the exception, and that any man can 
make his way of thinking the exception if he is 
intelligent enough to have sufficient confidence in 


THE LOGGER 


297 


his own ideas.” Alden paused to take a few bites 
of food, then putting down his knife and fork he 
wiped his mouth with his napkin and proceeded: 

“ I believe greatly in individualism. I cannot 
believe that because my great grandfather had a 
complex, as you call it, to probe his mother-in- 
law’s pet driving horse with a pitch fork, that I 
should inherit the desire to do that same thing. 
And because my mother-in-law by chance has no 
driving horse to probe, I should suffer years of 
repression. The entire theory sounds humorously 
absurd to me. I believe that my life is governed 
by the life and experiences of no one that has ever 
lived before me nor one who lives now or shall live 
after me. I am ME. Everything that I do, think, 
say or feel depends entirely upon myself. I have it 
in me to become as great intellectually, morally, 
financially as I choose. Nothing need bar my way 
from the heights of success. So long as my faith in 
my own potency endures, I can continue upward. 
So long as I am working for righteousness and 
justice nothing need stop me. Always I am the 
great ME, which endures as long as I have the 
breath of life left in me — ” 

Wainright’s brows lifted. 

“ That sounds most dreadfully vainglorious, 
Alden.” 

“ But I trust that you get my meaning. I am 
merely using myself as an example because I know 
the development of my own life better than that of 
others.” Alden paused to make sure that Wain- 


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right understood him. “ I believe I am illustrating 
this theory in my own financial and commercial 
success. And I owe much of this to having ban¬ 
ished all doubt, and my utter fearlessness to 
march on — n 

“ Now you are getting into business relations, 
at which,” Wainright laughed lightly, “ I draw the 
line. Sorry to say it, but I am in no way interested 
in the miraculous effect of the modern economic 
and financial system. Pardon me if this sounds 
insolent, but other than a bit of dabbling, in stocks 
and bonds, which my attorney does for me, my 
interest in the commercial ceases.” 

“ But you are interested in art,” Tesa broke in, 
in a manner which portrayed that she meant that 
this in itself was enough. 

“ To be sure. Anything in the artistic or intel¬ 
lectual line appeals to me greatly. My fond parents 
might have made anything of me, from a minister 
to a classic dancer, and I confess to have, at various 
times throughout my life, attempted to write 
poetry of the stilted, bilious sort. But never have 
I had a desire for high and frenzied finance like 
Dave here — ” both Tesa and he laughed at this — 
“ or any of the so-called get-rich-quick promotions. 

“ Had I created an appetite for the commercial 
game, doubtless I could be vastly wealthy. 
Fortunately, I have enough as it is to satisfy a 
confirmed bachelor. There is nothing more that 
I want.” 

Neither of the men saw Tesa wince at this last 


THE LOGGER 


299 


declaration. Smiling bitterly, she looked up at 
Wainright. 

“ How I envy you! ” 

“Yes? Well — perhaps it is an enviable posi¬ 
tion, and perhaps it is not.” He smiled. “ One 
advantage is that my financial standing keeps me 
from needing to be concerned over the current 
events of the day or of the future. 

“ I recall a friend of mine in Chicago, a frenzied 
financier, who was all wrought up this spring 
because it had been rumored that eventually the 
United States Steel Corporation will have some¬ 
thing like half of the steel trade of the country. 
That, of course, was of vital importance to him, 
inasmuch as he is one of the smaller steel corpora¬ 
tions. How fortunate I am, I thought, when it 
doesn’t need to matter a Continental to me whether 
the United States Steel Corporation controls the 
steel trust, the wool and cotton and the tobacco 
trusts, the petticoat and the soothing syrup 
trust and what not. It is all the same to 
me — ” 

“ But it should matter to you,” interrupted 
Alden. “ That is the trouble with humanity. It is 
the very reason that the social and economic 
systems are in such chaos as they are today. Those 
who are concerned over conditions are in no posi¬ 
tion to overcome the fault. Those who could do 
something to counterbalance it are indifferent 

“ Now— now, my dear David, wait a moment. 
I cannot agree with you on this point. Chicago, 


300 


THE LOGGER 


like all large cities, is over-run with social settle¬ 
ment workers.” 

Alden nodded. 

“ Quite true. But not workers of the right sort. 
That is, I mean to say, they are not getting at the 
nucleus of the trouble. One might as well go out 
into mid-ocean and try to run a dam from Hono¬ 
lulu to the Caroline Islands and expect the Pacific 
Ocean to back-water up over the Arctic Circle as 
to alter conditions in the manner they are going 
about it at the present day.” 

Wainright’s upper lip curled. 

“ And how would you revolutionize the social 
and the economic system? ” 

“ First, I would put society on an equal basis. 
As it is, society is divided into two factions. And 
each faction is pulling in the opposite direction. 
One faction is the builders, the doers. The other, 
and most emphatically the predominant one, is the 
wreckers and the parasites.” 

Wainright lifted an impatient hand. 

“ Oh, yes, David, all this is true today, but has 
it not always been true? Will there not always be 
the Intelligentsia and the Philistines? The one 
preying upon the other? It seems to me that if we 
would each mind our own affairs and let the other 
fellow’s alone, let him be free to do as he chooses, 
that alone would adjust the difficulty to a large 
degree.” 

Alden shook his head. 

“ But in the present-day situation the greater 


THE LOGGER 


301 


part of society cannot do as they choose. Those 
who can will not permit the others to do so. So 
don’t you see, it is not a square deal.” 

Wainright nodded. 

“ All right then, what would you do to give the 
Intelligentsia a square deal? ” 

“ I would establish a better system among the 
masses. I would develop the masses along prac¬ 
tical and intellectual lines, and I might add, most 
emphatically, along sanitary lines. Any intelligent 
person knows the psychology cleanliness and the 
sense of superiority it gives one. There has never 
been greater evidence of the part it plays in the 
working man’s life than right here in my own 
camps. If you do not believe me ask Tim, who at 
first was not altogether in sympathy with my plan 
of cleaning up the logging camps. Now he is as 
enthusifV ic as I, and he makes it a part of his 
daily work to inspect the living quarters of the 
camps to see that everything is in order. It has 
become as essential to him as seeing each day that 
every man is out on the works and ‘ hitting the 
ball ’ as he calls it. 

“ Since we have cleaned the camps of liquor — 
the death of old Cap Murry was the last bad case 
— ordered all lights out at ten o’clock, instead of 
this all-night gambling as it used to be, placed 
bathtubs and showers and clean linen at the men’s 
disposal, our output has increased at an almost 
unbelievable percentage. This has really been a 
charitable act toward the men, and yet many 


302 


THE LOGGER 


argue that it is not profitable to mix charity and 
business.” 

Wainright leaned back in his chair and studied 
Alden carefully. 

“ I hope it works out all right. I am sure no one 
wishes you success more than I. And I do envy 
you your enthusiasm. There was a time when I, 
too, dreamed of great achievements. But now I 
hold no illusions. Perhaps the reason I am a 
skeptic and a cynic is because I have seen too 
much — ” 

“ No,” said Alden, “you have not seen enough. 
And you have allowed yourself to be too greatly 
influenced by the few disillusions which are 
inevitable in any moderately intelligent person’s 
life. It is an undisputed fact that pessimism does 
not, as a rule, pay. And there has never been an 
age in which optimism is so essential to success as 
in this age — ” 

“ Oh, dear,” interrupted Tesa, shrugging impa¬ 
tiently, “ you two could talk all night and then 
you would not agree. How could you, when you 
are each of such distinctly different types? ” 

Wainright laughed. 

“ And each very true to type, eh? ” 

She nodded soberly. 

“ Extremely so.” She rose from the table. 
“ But come, let us go into the other room.” She 
moved away; the two men following her. At the 
entrance of the living room Wainright detained 
Alden. 


THE LOGGER 


303 


“ For all we have said here tonight, David, to 
simmer the sum and substance of the whole down 
to a fine point, civilization, after all, only travels in 
cycles. There will always be the cynic, the 
reformer, the saint, the sinner and so on. It is 
merely history repeating itself. A million years 
ago, doubtless some David Alden of a forgotten 
age and race was as zealous over the rise and 
development of civilization as the David Alden 
who sat at this table tonight. 

“ The man you idealists choose to call Christ 
and think of as an exalted being, He, too, if history 
tells truths, sought to save humanity. Yet human¬ 
ity went on doing its own little way in the exact 
manner it wanted to from that day to this.” 
Wainright paused a moment and looked tensely 
into Alden’s eyes. “ It is my earnest belief that it 
always will. 

“ History repeating itself again — It is only 
human nature that each generation should be 
intolerant of the one that is past, and the one that 
is to come. We believe the generation in which we 
live is the one which shall solve the problem of 
destiny. It was intended that we should feel this 
way, so that you reformers and builders, as you 
call yourself, and your type, shall have faith 
enough in yourselves to perform these unseen 
miracles.” Wainright’s brows lifted and he smiled 
cynically as he moved toward the fireplace and sat 
down before it. 

Alden brought over the cigars and, lighting a 


304 


THE LOGGER 


match, held it for Wainright, after which he lit his 
own cigar. 

“ Then you believe that the race is not improving 
as time goes on? ” he said as he tossed the match 
into the ash tray. 

Wainright puffed at his cigar a moment. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. There appears to be but 
little difference. Truly it seems but a trifle better, 
and yet perhaps it is no worse.” 

Alden’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

“ In that event, there would be nothing to work 
for toward the uplift of mankind. All this social 
reform is for nothing. That the government is 
working on nation-wide prohibition of liquor 
means nothing; that it is also working on the white 
slave question and other immoral conditions 
throughout the country means nothing; that 
myself and these working men who choose to call 
themselves Independent Workmen of the World 
— ” Alden paused. He lifted his hand. “ Now 
understand, Wainright, that I do not uphold these 
men in their radicalism. I am merely defending 
them in whatever views they have which I believe 
to be sound and practical. And it must be 
admitted that they have a few —” 

Wainright nodded absently. 

“Yes, we will say they have a few — go on —” 

“ Well, as I was saying, if these men and myself 
are striving here on Gray’s Harbor, as they are 
working the world over, to lift conditions for the 
working man to a higher standard then, according 


THE LOGGER 


305 


to your theory, that also means nothing.” Alden 
scowled darkly. “ Such men as you would let the 
world wallow in its filth and slime and degradation 
and sit back upon your haunches, smoke your good 
cigars and say: ‘ Let the world go to perdition. 
It’s no funeral of mine — ’ ” 

Tesa could see that Alden had worked himself 
up to an angry pitch. She was both surprised and 
provoked at him. That he should dare argue with a 
man of the type she believed Wainright to be, 
angered her. 

There had never been a time during her marriage 
when she was more conscious of the different planes 
upon which they each dwelt than she was this 
night. While the two men talked on she watched 
her husband where he sat upon the divan convers¬ 
ing, desperately in earnest. His eyes were flashing. 
She regretted that he could not conceal his agita¬ 
tion. She looked at Wainright. Calm and un¬ 
moved, if there was a hidden fire burning in his 
breast, there was no outward evidence of it. 

“ Always the well-bred gentleman,” she thought 
as she leaned back in her chair and observed him. 
“ Ah, he is of my world.” She sighed. “ Why 
could I not have seen this long ago? The more I 
am with Horace, the more convinced I am of how 
mismated David and I are.” 

Alden and Wainright continued; Alden heatedly, 
Wainright with outward indifference, but it was 
obvious that he enjoyed the argument. After a 
time, too bored to endure longer, Tesa spoke: 


306 


THE LOGGER 


“ Horace, how long are you going to sit there and 
listen to David’s absurd and antiquated theories? ” 
She yawned. “ I am sure you have a great deal 
more patience than I have — ” 

Wainright turned to Tesa. He said nothing, but 
something in the expression of his eyes infuriated 
Alden. That glance spoke volumes. For a 
moment he was not certain which of the two he 
desired most to attack. But Tesa was his wife, 
Wainright his guest. As a gentleman, he could 
attack neither of them. Controlling his wrath, he 
rose and getting his hat and overcoat in the hall, 
went outside for a walk in the night air. 

For a time he stalked along angrily. Up the 
road he met Tim on his way over to town. When 
they met, Tim turned back with him and they 
walked along together. Once during the conversa¬ 
tion Wainright’s name was mentioned. Instant 
remembrance of the glance Wainright had given 
Tesa, came back to Alden. He wondered yet why 
it had made him so angry, but he recalled how 
smugly satisfied they each were as they sat there, 
admitting in that glance that they were worlds 
removed from the one in which he revolved; worlds 
unapproachable by him and his kind. 

Before he was scarcely conscious of what he was 
doing, Alden was asking Tim what he thought of 
Wainright as a man. 

The lines about Tim’s mouth were grim as he 
stopped suddenly in the road and faced Alden in 
the moonlight. 


THE LOGGER 


307 


“ Do you really want to know what I think of 
that guy? ” 

Alden laughed harshly. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I think he’s the damnedest rounder that 
ever hit this neck of the woods. An’ I don’t mind 
tellin’ you as man to man that if I was in your 
place I’d be a little on the lookout for him. He’s 
smooth, that bird, let me tell you. Some of these 
days he’s liable to give you a little surprise that 
you’re not lookin’ for.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


Nothing plays havoc with the mind so much 
as imagination. Imagination, prompted by the 
love and the desire for romance, is the most 
treacherous. Perhaps the most prepossessing 
human quality, especially in the gentler sex, is 
this search for romance. 

Although Tesa Alden knew not why, she was 
always apologizing to Wainright. Not that it 
was necessary. Insofar as material wealth and 
social standing were concerned she had nothing 
to apologize for. During the past few years her 
home had become almost within the radius of 
magnificence. Other than the opera and the 
opportunity to meet a part of the world of dis¬ 
tinguished people through her social circle, life 
at Humptulips, heavily seasoned with the best 
which was to be found in Hoquiam and Aberdeen, 
was little short of the luxury she had enjoyed in 
Chicago. 

Her husband was broadening so extensively 
in the financial world that he had about decided 
to move to either Seattle or Tacoma or Portland, 
Oregon, and make his business center there. 
Tim was getting to be so much of an executive 
that this would be possible. It would be necessary 
308 


THE LOGGER 


309 


to spend but a part of the time on Gray’s Harbor; 
as he was doing at present anyway. 

Attending conferences, in which he and other 
logging men and mill men as co-workers exchanged 
ideas and recommendations of what they supposed 
to be the best plans upon which to achieve their 
interest, he was often gone for days at a time, 
sometimes to Portland, sometimes to Seattle or 
Tacoma and a number of times he had gone as 
far as San Francisco. 

Even among his competitors on Gray’s Harbor, 
Alden was becoming recognized as a big business 
man. 

“ That man is going far,” an older business 
head had once said of him at a meeting. “ He has 
big ideas and he knows how to carry them out.” 

The wives of many of the prosperous lumbermen 
on Gray’s Harbor spent their winters in California. 
Alden suggested to Tesa that she do this. But 
she obstinately refused. 

“ No, I detest the West. I want to go back to 
Chicago.” 

“ Yet, you know that under the present 
circumstances that would be impossible.” 

Without another word, the subject was dropped. 

The strain for Tesa had broken. She no longer 
fought the rebellious impulses which obsessed her. 
Her spirit was in revolt; she made no attempt to 
conceal it. 

“ If he will not consent to a divorce, and I have 
no grounds upon which to get one without his 


310 


THE LOGGER 


consent, then I shall live my own life in the way 
I choose. Perhaps, in time he will be glad to give 
me my freedom.” 

Pitching headlong into the game of playing 
with fire, she became reckless, and chose Horace 
Wainright as her playfellow. And he was not 
an unwilling participant in entering this game, 
which is older than history. 

However, Wainright did not altogether know 
his own mind regarding Tesa. Sometimes he 
thought he loved her deeply, yet, when he detected 
her seriousness toward him, he hesitated and 
almost wished to withdraw from this frenzied 
frivolity into which she was leading him. 

“ Good Lord, doesn’t she know I’m a confirmed 
bachelor and glory in my freedom? ” he would 
ask himself hopelessly. “Yet what man can 
resist the wiles of a beautiful woman? Tesa! 
Apparently as cold and dead as an Egyptian 
mummy. Although who knows but what — if — 
But hang it all, if she is in love with me, why 
didn’t she know it long ago?” 

“ When one has been in exile for nearly six 
years,” said Tesa, one afternoon when they were 
speeding along the Olympic Highway, “ as I have 
been in exile, in spite of every effort to refrain 
from it, you take on more or less of the condition 
of your environment. Both Dave and I have 
changed considerably since we came West. 

“ The new West, as they call it, is still a ferocious 
country. There are no wild beasts to devour 


THE LOGGER 


311 


one now, nor Indians waiting to scalp you, but 
it cannot be denied that a dominant primordial 
instinct still remains among these Westerners. 
It may be due to the great open spaces or, perhaps, 
the vibrations of the but recently wild and woolly 
West still linger. It might even be climatic 
conditions which mark such a sharp contrast 
between the Westerners and the Easterners —” 
Tesa looked at Wainright’s calm and unmoved 
profile. A bit of a thrill stirred her. “ Have 
you noticed it? ” 

Wainright turned to her and smiled. It was 
as if he had surmised the stirring of her heart. 

“ To me the West, of course, means you, Tesa.” 

Tesa’s eyelids dropped. Something in the 
expression bent upon her brought vividly to her 
mind vague emotions which she had been experi¬ 
encing of late, emotions which, during her 
girlhood and early marriage, she had not known; 
in fact not until Wainright had returned into her 
life again. Now she had no doubt that it was he 
who was rousing this vehemence which, previously, 
she had not been conscious of possessing. 

The eyes through which she now looked did 
not see Wainright as the same man who had so 
ardently wooed her as a girl. Nor did the 
Wainright of old seem the same person as he who 
sat beside her. When she had gained her mental 
equilibrium, she asked: 

“ Tell me, is it true that you have changed, 
or is it just that I feel you are different, Horace? ” 


312 


THE LOGGER 


He did not reply at once. 

“We have each changed.” 

She looked up at him admiringly. 

“You seem so much more vitally alive than 
you did back in the old days. So much more — 
a — oh, I can’t express just what I mean—” 

He shook his head. 

“ I know what you mean, Tesa. It isn’t the 
change in either of us. The reason you see me 
differently from what you did then is because you 
have a much broader perspective with which to 
view me now. In Chicago there are hundreds of 
Wainrights —” 

“ While here in the West there is but one.” 

Wainright shrugged. 

“ That sounds too boastful.” 

“ But it isn’t. I mean every word of it.” 

Reaching over, he closed his hand over her 
long, slender fingers. He felt them tremble beneath 
the pressure. 

“You are very unhappy, aren’t you, Tesa? ” 

She turned her head to conceal the tears that 
sprung to her eyes. 

“Yes, Horace.” 

Tesa had begun to believe that she was begin¬ 
ning to reach a climax in the strange dilemma 
into which she had become involved through 
her marriage and then this meeting with a past 
lover. One evening a few nights later Wainright 
and she were alone in her living-room. The 
servants were upstairs in their rooms, the children 


THE LOGGER 


313 


were in bed, Posey had gone out; no doubt to 
spend the evening with Aunt Sally Mullen. Alden 
was away. He was not expected back before the 
end of the week. 

This night Tesa was in an unusually reckless 
mood. Never had she felt such impiety. Wainright 
and she were reminiscing. 

“ Remember the drives we used to have around 
the lakes at this time of the year, Tesa? Early 
spring sunshine and the quick, sharp air 
blowing in our faces—” 

Suddenly a bitter sense of homesickness swept 
her, yet the memory seemed to anger her rather 
than sadden her. She rose and began to pace up 
and down. Presently she stopped before him, 
her attitude dramatic. 

“ Don’t remind me, Horace. Can I forget it? 
Can I forget anything, anything? ” Her voice 
became high-pitched, almost hysterical. “ Don’t 
I live each day, each month, each year on nothing 
but memories — of the past. For me, there is 
nothing but the past. Always the past. There 
is never any present.” Flinging her arms out 
hopelessly she turned away from him. 

Wainright rose and went to her side. 

“ Why, Tesa, I didn’t realize that you cared 
so much as this —” 

She burst into tears. 

“ But I do — Oh, I do! And he will not let me 
go. Even when I have told him that I detest him 
— even then he will not let me go.” 


314 


THE LOGGER 


“ Why does he object to a divorce when he 
knows that you do not love him? ” 

“ The children. He will not consent to it on 
account of them.” 

Wainright misunderstood this. 

“ Then go, and leave the children with him.” 

For a moment Tesa’s maternal instinct 
dominated. 

“ Leave my children with him ! ” 

Wainright put an arm about her shoulder. 

“ Tesa, you are all wrought up. Calm yourself. 
Don’t take your difficulties so tragically. There 
will be some way in which they can be adjusted. 
There always is.” 

Tesa had never seen this sympathetic element 
in Wainright before. She had been a trifle afraid 
because he had appeared so cynical. Now that 
he had proved that he did have a compassionate 
heart, she was deeply moved. Overcome by 
what she believed to be her wretched state, she 
flung herself into Wainright’s arms. 

“ Horace, take me away from this, please — 
please, before I go insane! I can endure him no 
longer. He is not my husband, he is a brute and — 
and I love you —” 

Influenced by her fervor, Wainright drew Tesa 
close. All the old infatuation for her surged 
through his veins. A swift and sudden decision 
swept out all his boastful appreciation of 
bachelordom. 

“ Tesa, dear, it was for you that I came West. 


THE LOGGER 


315 


Somehow I had a vision that wherever you were, 
you wanted me. And I came in search of you —” 
He drew her over to the davenport and took her 
in his arms again. 

Neither of them knew how long they remained 
in this position when, happening to look up, Tesa 
saw Posey standing in the doorway leading into 
the hall. The awed expression of the girl’s face, 
horrified as if almost unbelieving what her eyes 
saw, filled Tesa with white rage. Jerking herself 
upright, her eyes flashed fire. She turned on Posey. 

“You slinking little eavesdropper, you will 
steal in upon people when they are not aware of 
your presence, will you? ” Provoked with herself 
for admitting her guilt, she became presumptuous. 
Her lips curled. “ Well — I hope you are satisfied 
with what you see.” 

Posey took a swift step toward them, as if she 
were the guilty party and wished to make an 
explanation. Tesa pointed to the door. 

“ There is the door. Go. And I mean it this 
time.” Bewildered yet, Posey started away 
without a word, but Tesa called her back. “ Don’t 
think I have any fear of your gossiping tongue,” 
she flung furiously. “ It will not be long before 
I shall be away from you jungle people, who 
creep around in search of prey upon which to 
satisfy your insatiable appetites.” 

Still too amazed to reply — in fact she had 
only half heard what Tesa was saying — Posey 
went upstairs to pack her few belongings. Soon 


316 


THE LOGGER 


she was out on the road making her way to 
Mother McKnight. Her heart was too full of 
sadness and disillusionment to collect her thoughts 
as she strode along in the darkness. Dry-eyed, she 
looked hard into the shadows as she passed. - 

“ And all the time I thought that Aunt Sally 
was lying and unreasonable in the things she 
said about Mrs. Alden,” she concluded in a voice 
that was half a whisper and half aloud. 

As if the interval must not end with Posey’s 
having actually seen Tesa in Wainright’s arms 
Alden came home unexpectedly that night. 
Renting a car from a garage in town, he had 
come in after midnight. Wainright had just 
left and Tesa had not yet retired. Alden was 
both surprised and bewildered when he noted 
the tell-tale flush on her cheeks, the brilliancy of 
her eyes. This was something authentically new. 
Never, in all the years since he had known her, 
had he found Tesa so radiant. 

For a moment his heart leapt. Was this for 
him? He moved toward her to greet her. Instantly 
Tesa’s vibrancy went out; she was stone, 
impenetrable, as she had always been with him. 

For the first time in weeks, the truth was 
revealed to him. Wainright! Slow rage rose up 
in him, but he fought to control it. He asked 
Tes&, where Wainright was. She made no reply. 

“ Answer me! ” he demanded. 

Tesa looked up at him mockingly. 

“ Of what concern can that be to you? ” 


THE LOGGER 


317 


“ Of the same concern that it is to any man 
toward one whom he has given the hospitality of 
his home, and in return finds that other has stolen 
his wife’s affections.” 

Tesa was almost afraid of what she saw in 
Alden’s eyes. There was something almost savage, 
as if he would forget that he was a gentleman if 
she went too far. Yet she would not admit her 
fear. In the past she had baffled him by her 
banter. She would do it now. 

“ Oh, no, he has not, David. There were no 
affections to steal.” 

Great beads of perspiration stood out upon 
Alden’s brow. He moved toward her. 

“ Do you think I will permit such infamy 
carried on in my house? Have you no honor or 
respect for your position as a wife and a mother 
when you permit this social parasite to come into 
your home and make love to you? ” 

Tesa threw back her head and laughed. She 
did not intend to let him humiliate her. True, 
Posey might tell what she saw, but she would 
declare that through spite Posey told falsehoods. 
According to a technical term in law, one is 
not guilty until he is proven guilty. Well, let 
them try to bring proof against her. 

“ Oh, don’t allow yourself to get too excited. 
Think a moment — aren’t you a bit hasty in 
your accusations? You might be wrong.” 

Catching one of her wrists, Alden gripped it 
fiercely. He looked as if he would strike her. 


318 


THE LOGGER 


“ I am not wrong in the estimation I have had 
recently regarding your attitude toward me. 
I have seen enough between you and this man 
Wainright to know that I am justified in whatever 
I might think. And when I remember that you 
have never, in all the years we have been married, 
been responsive to me —” Suddenly he flung her 
from him. Stumbling, Tesa half fell back upon 
the davenport. Trembling with fury he bent 
over her. “ What have you been to me — a wife? 
No! A companion? No! A sweetheart? No! ” 
He paused and scrutinized her fiercely. ‘ ‘ Why, 
good God, you are no wife! You aren’t even a 
mistress! You are nothing—” 

Tesa hid her face as if each word were a blow, 
but the moment he stopped she turned upon him 
vehemently. 

“ Then, perhaps, now that you have learned I 
love him, you will consent to a divorce! ” 

Alden laughed harshly. 

“You love him —” His eyes narrowed. “ Why, 
it isn’t in you. Love has no place in the heart of a 
person like you.” 

Tesa rose hastily. She stood looking at Alden 
tensely. 

“ Then give me my freedom! ” 

There was a perceptible curl on his lips when 
he replied: 

“ Never! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


During the first part of November, after the 
first fall freshet, it was announced that the logging 
men all up and down the Humptulips would have a 
“splash.” The river being unusually low that 
year, the logs had been accumulating since early 
spring. It was predicted that this was to be the 
greatest “ splash ” ii: this history of logging along 
the Humptulips River. 

The rain came during the latter part of October. 
It poured for two weeks without ceasing. Conse¬ 
quently the river rose and the log jams began to 
loosen. 

The “ splash ” was set for Friday. It proved to 
be a desirable day. The sun came out early in the 
morning; breaking from behind the low clouds 
which had hidden it so long. The morning waxed 
warm. The atmosphere had the pungent odor of 
Indian summer. 

This being an unusual event, everyone turned 
out to see the “ splash.” Old ladies laid down 
their knitting, housewives, disregarding a littered 
kitchen, went down to the river early, a number of 
the school children played “hookey,” and re¬ 
joiced in the excuse to hide among the thick 
underbrush which hung along the muddy banks. 

Alden was home that morning, but he was 
319 


320 


THE LOGGER 


unable to stay to see the “ splash.” A pressing 
business engagement called him to Seattle. He 
was going to stop over in Tacoma on his way up, 
so he rose early to catch the morning train from 
Hoquiam. 

While he ate his breakfast, he supposed the 
rest of the family still slept. He was surprised 
when someone crept up behind him and laid a 
small hand on his. A pair of large grey eyes 
beamed adoringly up into his. 

“ Hello, Daddy.” 

Alden looked down at Dunny while he stood 
waiting for a word of greeting. 

“ Why, Sonny, what are you doing up so 
early? ” He noted that the child had nothing on 
but his pajamas. He asked him why he did not 
have on his dressing gown. 

Dunny wriggled. 

“I’m — I’m most awful warm, Daddy — ” 

“ But you might catch cold.” 

When the maid came into the dining-room, 
Alden asked her to get something to put around 
him. Dunny looked thoughtfully at his father for 
a moment. 

“ Daddy, may I have breakfast with you? ” 

Alden smiled into his eager eyes. 

“ Of course you can.” He asked the girl to bring 
Dunny’s breakfast in also. 

Suddenly prompted by a bright idea, Dunny 
fled to her side and caught her by the dress. He 
looked back at his father. 


THE LOGGER 


321 


“ And may I have what you eat, Daddy? I— 
I’m most — drea’ful tired of cereal all the time. 
I’d like a great big man breakfast — ” 

Alden nodded his consent to toast and a cup of 
hot milk with just a wee bit of coffee in it. Strong 
coffee was not good for little boys, he explained. 

Returning to the table, Dunny slid into his 
place. His father watched with amused interest 
while he unfolded his napkin and tucked it under 
his chin. 

“ What pleasure he is going to bring me in a 
few more years,” he thought as he looked across 
the table at the child. For a moment his heart 
went out tenderly to his wife. “Poor Tesa — 
after all, if nothing else, she has done a magnifi¬ 
cent thing for me in bearing me this splendid little 
son.” A lump rose in his throat. “ If we can only 
make things right between us before the children 
are old enough to realize — They must never 
know. My children!”—He studied Dunny’s 
beaming face. “ Dunny, my son! ” And then he 
thought of his rosy baby still asleep in her crib. 

“ My beautiful little Maribel Marie! ” 

Dunny looked over at his father complacently. 
“I’m getting to be a big boy now, Daddy, since 
I’m going to school.” He drew himself up stoutly 
and threw out his small chest. “ I’ve growed ever 
and ever so much. See! ” 

Alden pretended to have noticed it only that 
morning. 

“ Why, you have, haven’t you? ” 


322 


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Dunny nodded. 

“ Yes, ’n I can take good care of Sissy Mobo, 
too.” 

His father looked at him gravely. 

“ And you must take good care of your little 
sister, Dunny.” 

“ Yes, ’cause she’s just a little bitty weenty girl 
yet.” His face puckered seriously. '‘ She don’t 
go to school! ” 

This exhibition of arrogance amused Alden. 
He suppressed a smile. He would not have the 
child even suspect that he did not take his every 
mood with the exact significance with which it 
was portrayed. He took great pride in the fact 
that his son looked upon him as being the most 
wonderful man in the world. It was an incentive 
to strive to be all that the child believed him to be. 
He regretted that a day should come when he 
might learn that he had been disillusioned. 

Finishing his breakfast, he rose from the table. 
Dunny looked up, a trifle hurt that they could not 
have a long chat. Yet he was becoming accustomed 
to his father leaving early to get to Hoquiam in 
time for the morning train. Alden reached down 
to kiss him. 

“ Good-bye, Son.” 

“ Wait, Daddy ! ” Dunny clambered up in his 
chair and threw his arms about his father’s neck 
for a “ hug-tight hug,” as he called an unusually 
demonstrative embrace. “ I want to stand up so’s 
I’m away high like you, and then I can give you a 


THE LOGGER 


323 


great big hug-tight hug.” He nestled his head 
under Alden’s chin. “That’s the way I do Mother, 
only sometimes she don’t want any hug-tight 
hugs.” 

Alden risked missing his train to satisfy that 
warm little heart with a moment’s caress. He 
reached down and kissed Dunny’s lips. 

“ All right now, Sonny.” He lifted him off of 
his chair and was going to swing him to the floor. 

“ Another for Sissy Mobo! ” cried Dunny. 

Alden kissed him again and then tore himself 
away. As he climbed into his car, he looked back 
to see the little face at the window, glowing with 
love, a small hand waving furiously at him. 

“ I understand that the sight is worth seeing,” 
said Wainright the morning he came down from 
Quiniault to see the “ splash.” He met Tesa on 
her way down to the post office to mail a letter 
which she had neglected to give her husband to 
mail. 

“ Oh, if one has never seen one before, it is 
interesting and unusual,” she returned. “It is 
an event here. All the natives turn out to view 
it — ” 

“ Then let us play natives and view it with 
them.” 

Tesa’s eyes flashed, half in amusement and half 
in scorn. 

“ Indeed not! I have no desire to even play 
that I am a native of these jungles — ” 

A feeling of pity swept Wainright as he looked 


324 


THE LOGGER 


down at Tesa. She was more pale than usual. 
He wondered if she had not been having a rather 
hard time in the past few weeks. Since the night 
she had thrown herself into his arms, he had kept 
away from the Alden home; principally because 
she had told him of the painful interview between 
herself and her husband. They concluded it would 
be best to confine their friendship to narrower 
bounds. 

This morning he said nothing to her of their 
experience that night. There was a mutual under¬ 
standing between them, and they each thought it 
best to await further developments. 

“ I know a splendid place up above the bridge 
where we can watch the logs when they first come 
in sight,” Tesa was saying. “ We can walk along 
the bank and watch them below the bridge.” 

Wainright nodded. 

“ Fine. When does it begin? ” 

“ They will pull the flume planks right after 
noon. Of course, it will take some time for the 
logs to get down this far. They will start the rafts 
farthest up first and then gradually work down. 
I think one o’clock will be a good time to go 
over.” 

“ Very well — I shall be at this spot at twelve- 
thirty.” Wainright lifted his hat and went on. 

When Dunny saw his mother getting ready after 
she had eaten a hasty luncheon, he begged to go. 

“ May I go with you, Mother? Sissy Mobo and 
I want to go too.” 


THE LOGGER 


325 


“ Please, may we go? ” Sissy Mobo’s great blue 
eyes were pleading. 

Tesa considered for a moment. 

“ Shall I take them? ” she reflected. Then on 
second thought: “ No, they would keep up such a 
tirade of questions that Horace and I would not 
have a moment’s peace. And then, too, children 
bore him so dreadfully.” 

No, you must stay home today, children. I 
will take you next time — ” 

Sissy Mobo’s lower lip dropped and Dunny took 
on a dejected air. Tesa bent down and put an arm 
about each of them. 

“ Listen, if you will each be good today I will 
take you for a long, long ride tomorrow. Away 
up to Montesano. And we will have dinner at 
some nice place. Won’t that be lovely? ” 

Sissy Mobo’s eyes widened. 

“ In the au’mobile? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ An’ you’ll buy us lots an’ lots of cracker jack, 
Mother? ” 

“ Oceans of it! ” 

With such prospects in view, Sissy Mobo was 
content to stay home. But Dunny was not so 
easily consoled. He was getting old enough to 
take an active interest in bigger things, and he 
had set his heart on seeing the “ splash.” 

His mother had put him off before by telling 
him that he was too little. Now that he was going 
to school, he felt assured that this could no longer 


326 . 


THE LOGGER 


be an excuse. A very disappointed little boy 
looked after Tesa as she walked away. Before she 
was out of sight he was prompted by a bright idea. 

“We will see it, the ‘ splash,’ ” he said obsti¬ 
nately. “ Anyway, we will see the ‘splash.’ ” 

Sissy Mobo looked at him inquisitively. 

“ Will we? ” 

Dunny nodded firmly. 

“ Yes. It won’t be minding but — but just 
this once we’re not going to mind. All the rest of 
our life, forever and ever we will mind — but not 
today.” 

Accepting his word as law, Sissy Mobo jumped 
up and down merrily. 

“ We’re goin’ to see the ‘splash ’ ! We’re goin’ to 
see the ‘splash ’ ! ” 

Tesa and Wainright had not been stationed long 
at their post when they heard the roar of rushing 
waters and the dull thud of thousands of logs 
bumping together as they sped swiftly toward 
them; like a stampede of cattle being driven by a 
storm. The logs sailed rapidly along the surface 
of the river, now swollen to the top of the banks 
by the overflow from the dam. They bumped 
together angrily as if impatient to get ahead of 
those before them. 

With the unassuming air of those who know no 
danger, the river men rode down upon the great 
rafts of logs. Boom pole in hand, his eyes riveted 
ahead of him, Tesa saw Henry Hoggens standing 
upon the first raft. 


THE LOGGER 


327 


In the past several years Hoggens had worked 
upon the river almost entirely. He was considered 
the best riverman of the Alden Logging Company’s 
crew. 

Tesa turned to Wainright. 

“ Isn ’t it thrilling ! Even without the sight of 
the logs driving by, the turbulence of the river is 
as awe-inspiring as a great fire or a thunder 
storm.” 

When Tesa and Wainright passed the people 
standing on the bank, they noticed that many 
turned to look at them. Pretending to see none 
of them, Tesa tossed back her head and walked 
proudly by. Wainright moved slowly by her side. 

“We can see up the river ever and ever so much 
better up here, Sissy Mobo.” 

Leading his little sister out upon the great log 
jam, which had been lodged some distance below 
the bridge since the last freshet, Dunny pointed 
gleefully. “ See the pretty water running away, 
Sissy Mobo — But it isn’t running away like it’s 
going to pretty soon.” 

They climbed upon a log which, rising above 
the rest, was far enough out of the water to enable 
them to see all about them. 

Looking down into the depth below her, Sissy 
Mobo drew back. 

“ I ’fraid.” 

Dunny held tightly to her clenched fist. 

“ No, no, you mustn’t be ’fraid, Sissy Mobo.” 
He straightened himself up suddenly. “ See what 


328 


THE LOGGER 


a great big boy I am. Nothing couldn’t never 
happen to you with me holding your hand.” 

Sissy Mobo was still unconvinced, but she 
allowed him to help her down from the high log 
and lead her across the jam. 

“ We’ll go ’way over,” he said as he picked his 
way carefully. He pointed to where the logs formed 
a haphazard bridge far out into the river. “ But 
dist as soon as the logs begin to come down we’ll 
run right back to shore.” 

The farther Dunny went the more courageous 
he became. On the opposite shore there were 
people from Axeford Prairie and neighboring 
ranches. Among them he recognized Posey. She 
was standing apart from the others. 

The children had not seen Posey since the night 
their mother had sent her from their home. 
Delighted, Dunny called to her. He was too far 
away to make himself heard, so he went out to 
the very edge of the jam and shouted as loud as 
his shrill little voice would carry. When Posey 
did at last hear him and, looking about, dis¬ 
covered his dangerous position, she uttered a cry 
of horror. 

“ Dunny, you and Sissy Mobo go right back to 
shore ! ” 

The wind was coming from the opposite direc¬ 
tion. Dunny did not hear what she was saying 
at first. 

“What? ” 

“ Hurry back to shore ! Go back ! Go back ! ” 


THE LOGGER 


329 


She waved her hands desperately so that he would 
understand. 

Dunny did understand and with this came the 
realization of his peril. His bravado left him. He 
fought hard to control the tears as he took Sissy 
Mobo’s hand and made his way back across the 
jam. 

But when they reached the other side the rise of 
the water, already rushing down ahead of the logs, 
had dislodged some of those about the edge of the 
jam. 

Hoping that they would get back to safety before 
it was too late, Posey wondered why the children 
did not hurry upon shore. She would have rushed 
to their rescue had it been possible, but it was too 
far up to the bridge to get around that distance 
before the rafts began to float down the river. 

Presently she saw why Dunny and Sissy Mobo 
were not upon shore. The dislodged logs were 
floating away on the swift current. They were 
trapped! 

Posey looked about her at the crowd of people 
upon the bank. All women and children and old 
men, there was none among them who could swim. 
Across the river she saw several of the loggers 
approaching the jam to watch that it dislodged 
right so that it would not form another jam farther 
down the river. She was in hopes that they might 
see the children, but it was obvious that they did 
not and they were too far away for her to call to 
them. 


330 


THE LOGGER 


There was but one way left in which she might 
save the children. Without thought of her own 
danger, Posey plunged into the icy water. The 
shock of the cold contact against her warm flesh 
almost overpowered her for a moment, but she 
fought the rapidly rising tide. She had not gone 
ten feet until there came cries from the shore for 
her to come back. The logs were coming! 

Knowing now that it was useless to try to get to 
the children and that she would do well to save 
herself, Posey struggled against the current which 
threatened to carry her on before it. She tried to 
turn, but it was impossible. The tide was under¬ 
mining her and bearing her swiftly into the middle 
of the stream. The rafts were bearing down upon 
her and she could do little more than hold herself 
above the water. 

The screams of the women and children upon 
shore reached the ears of the rivermen. Henry 
Hoggens’ alert eyes sighted Posey. In an instant 
he was in the water and, with almost superhuman 
skill, captured her just as the undertow was suck¬ 
ing her beneath the raft. 

Posey cried into his ear that Dunny and Sissy 
Mobo were on the jam but, had he heard her, it 
would have been too late. Rescued by the boom 
pole held out to them from one of the other rafts, 
they had no more than reached safety when their 
raft and others riding abreast of them, blew the 
jam. 

At once it was broadcasted that the Alden chil- 


THE LOGGER 


331 


dren had been on the jam. As they were borne 
along on that fury of rushing logs, the eye of every 
man watched in hope that the little bodies might 
rise above the water. 

About three quarters of a mile down the river, 
some one caught sight of Dunny’s brown head. 
One of the men dove in and brought him up. 
Mangled by the blows of logs, where they had 
struck against him, it was believed that he was 
killed almost as soon as he had fallen into the water. 
All that had saved him from the full force of the 
blows was that his clothing had caught on the long 
splinters which stuck out from the end of a log. 
Had it not been for this, his body might never have 
been recovered. 

Although the river was sacked for days after¬ 
ward, Sissy Mobo was never found. It was thought 
that perhaps she, too, had been caught in some¬ 
thing of the same manner as Dunny and carried 
along by the undertow, was swept down the river 
and into the harbor. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


“ For what shall it profit a man, if he gain the 
whole world and lose his own soul.” 

This quotation from the thirty-sixth verse of the 
eighth chapter of Mark weighed heavily in David 
Alden’s min d all during the night he sat in watch 
over the dead body of his little son. 

Dunny, his first-born, the light of his life, his 
pride, his joy — gone forever. Dunny, in whom he 
had made so many plans for their future life 
together \ in whom he had dreamed and had 
visions of the man he was going to be. Dunny! 
His little body so vibrant and alive only that 
morning when they parted. His little mouth 
clinging to his in loving embrace! 

Dead. His little boy was dead. And Maribel 
Marie, his baby with the starry eyes. Not even a 
scrap of her dress remained. Swept from him! 
He was denied even the last opportunity of gazing 
upon her in death — 

There was no consolation for Alden in this 
tragedy. Not one thread upon which he could 
linger. Strangely he blamed himself. He thought 
of a dozen things he might have done to prevent it, 
even to the thought of having taken them with 
him that day. 

He did not blame Tesa. How was she to know 

332 


THE LOGGER 


333 


any more than he, that the children would go down 
on the log jam that day? However, he did not 
know that they had begged to go with her and she 
had refused to take them, putting them off with 
promises, and had gone away with Wainright. He 
did not know this and, even the gossiping tongues 
of Humptulips had not the courage to tell him the 
truth. 

Alden’s suffering was nothing to compare with 
Tesa’s. In addition to the loss, her suffering was 
poignantly multiplied by the realization that she 
was partly to blame. Prostrate with grief, for days 
after the funeral of Dunny she refused to see any¬ 
one. Burying herself in the seclusion of her room, 
there were moments when she believed she would 
go insane. Self-condemnation smote her merci¬ 
lessly and unrelentingly. Night after night she lay 
awake, her eyes searching the darkness. 

Her days were even worse agony. Every 
moment of every hour, she found herself listening 
for the sound of her children’s shrill little voices, to 1 
hear the patter of their feet in the hall outside. 

“What have I done! What have I done to 
deserve such punishment,” she would wail into the 
silence of those long nights, and then for hours she 
would toss from side to side upon her bed, calling 
for her children. Calling and calling again in vain. 

Alden heard none of this. He was not at home. 
He had been called to San Francisco in the com¬ 
pany’s interest. He did not delay the trip because 
of his sorrow. In fact he somewhat welcomed the 


334 


THE LOGGER 


opportunity to get away from the scene of the 
disaster. There were moments when he wondered 
if he could find the fortitude to return. 

All during his absence that verse from the Book 
of Mark came to him again and again: “For what 
shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and 
lose his own soul? ” 

One evening in the crowded dining room of the 
St. Francis Hotel this inquisition rose before him 
more vitally than before. It may have been 
because of the gaiety about him; the lively strains 
of the orchestra, the low hum of voices. 

In a flash the past swept through his mind; from 
the first meeting with Tesa to the present. 

“ How unwise of me trying to keep her against 
her wishes,” he reflected. “ I should have let her 
go with Wainright that night when she begged me 
to consent to a divorce. Perhaps, if I had, the 
children would still be living—” He paused and 
studied the table service before him absently. 

Yet it was for their sake that I fought against a 
separation. I did not want my children to grow up 
to learn that their father and mother stooped to the 
common discrepancies that some parents do. I 
was proud and vain. I wanted my son to always 
look up to me as he did in his childhood. I strove 
to carry out his illusions into facts. What a fool I 
have been — what a fool! 

“ Striving to gain the whole world, to lay the 
trophies of my victory at the feet of my loved ones. 
And, after all, where has this idle fancy led me — 


THE LOGGER 


335 


this dream of becoming a power in the financial 
world — What have I gained — ” 

Alden’s reflections were interrupted by someone 
who had stopped at his table, and now stood before 
him. He did not look up, but he did become con¬ 
scious of having been served for some time and that 
he had not touched a mouthful of the food. He 
looked down at his plate. The meat was cold, the 
salad already soggy. He looked about him. 
People’s eyes were upon him. Several were staring 
curiously. 

Suddenly he felt that he wanted to fly from this 
scene of gaiety. How could other hearts rejoice 
when his was so sad? 

He felt a hearty slap upon his back. He looked 
up. The person who had been standing beside him 
smiled cordially. The light of his eyes kindled a 
spark of warmth in Alden’s heart. He jumped to 
his feet. 

“ No, no, Alden, sit still! What are you doing 
down here in San Francisco? ” 

Alden extended a welcoming hand. 

“ I—why, Mr. Griggs — this is indeed a most 
pleasant surprise.” 

The man was Walter Griggs, president of the 
Griggs Lumber Company of Portland, Oregon. 
One of the most successful lumbermen of the 
Pacific Northwest, he was known all up and down 
the Coast; not only for his executive ability but 
also for his excellent personality. He was famed 
far and wide as being a great humanitarian. Alden 


336 


THE LOGGER 


and he had been acquainted for a number of years. 
He was very much interested in Alden’s progress 
and an ardent admirer of his fine principles. 

After the greeting, Alden unconsciously started 
to follow him away. Griggs pointed to the un¬ 
touched food. 

“ Sit down there, my boy, and eat your dinner! 
You were just beginning, weren’t you? ” 

Flushing slightly, Alden looked down at the 
table. 

“ It does look like it — but the fact is, I believe 
food was placed there nearly a half hour ago— ” 

Scrutinizing him sharply, Griggs instantly dis¬ 
covered that Alden was troubled. Giving him a 
gentle shove toward his chair, he unceremoniously 
took the chair beside him. They were alone. Alden 
had been the only occupant at the table. Griggs 
leaned over toward him and eyed him keenly. 

“ Alden, you’re not yourself tonight. You are 
worrying over something. What is the trouble? ” 
Alden hesitated to reply. Griggs patted him 
affectionately on the arm. “ All right, go ahead 
and eat your dinner. You can tell me all about it 
later.” 

They talked of commonplaces until Alden had 
eaten all he wished of the cold and unappetizing 
food and drank the cup of hot coffee that the waiter 
brought him. Without waiting for his dessert, he 
rose, got his check and went out into the lobby with 
Griggs. They sat and smoked for a time. When 
they had finished their cigars, Griggs invited Alden 


THE LOGGER 


337 


up to his rooms. On the way up in the elevator he 
mentioned that he believed they could talk much 
better in privacy. 

“Now tell me what is the matter? ” he said, 
when he had beckoned Alden to a comfortable 
chair and they were settled comfortably. “You 
have always been such a spirited fellow. It is both 
new and surprising to find you in this mood. You 
act as if you had lost your last friend — ” 

“ I am afraid my affliction is worse than that, 
Mr. Griggs.” 

“ Why—why you don’t mean it! Is it possible?” 
Griggs paused. “ I beg your pardon, for appearing 
so inquisitive. I just supposed that business 
reverses were depressing you. I know we all get 
down at the mouth sometimes over some little 
perplexity that always seems to come out all right 
at the last of it.” 

Alden shook his head. 

“ It was perfectly all right for you to inquire, 
Mr. Griggs. I appreciate your interest—” He 
stopped suddenly. Griggs studied him a moment. 
Alden’s manner was confusing. 

“ The man surely is in trouble,” he thought. 

“ If your trouble is anything which you can 
tell — Sometimes it is a relief to get an obsession 
off of one’s mind.” 

Alden was silent a moment. 

“ Yes, it is something that I can tell and, I agree 
with you. Perhaps it will help me to talk with 
someone.” 


338 


THE LOGGER 


He related the incident of the children’s drown¬ 
ing. When he had finished Griggs shook his head 
sadly. 

“ Yes, that is, indeed, very, very sad. I can 
imagine nothing worse. There is no alleviation for 
grief. Only time can heal, to a degree, the scar it 
leaves upon the heart.” 

Before the evening was over, Alden found him¬ 
self going even farther into the confidence of this 
older man. Suffering so long in silence, he had 
reached a point where he welcomed the oppor¬ 
tunity of finding a friend with whom he could 
trust his heartache. 

“ And there you are,” he said at length, “ I feel 
that I may have gained the whole world — the 
world which I set out to conquer — and now I 
question if I have not lost my own soul — ” 

Griggs lifted a deprecating hand. 

“Not at all! Not at all! Get that idea out of 
your mind. It is merely an illusion. A man of your 
character cannot lose his soul. And don’t condemn 
yourself. This tragedy might have happened to the 
children of any man. It does happen. There is 
scarcely a day passes but what we read in the 
newspapers of similar accidents. They are inevi¬ 
table. Doubtless guided by an Unseen Power for 
reasons which we know not of. 

“ And this trouble between yourself and your 
wife. It does not behoove others to give advice 
but, since you ask it, I believe from what you tell 
me that you are each making a mistake by going 


THE LOGGER 


339 


on as you are. She is not happy. You are not 
happy. The friction between you is merely 
restricting the spiritual development of both your 
lives. And in such an instance it seems unpardon¬ 
able that two people should continue the marriage 
relationship. This is, indeed, an exception and I 
believe that I am not wrong in expressing my 
opinion to you, Mr. Alden.” Griggs paused and 
observed Alden thoughtfully. 

Alden was impressed by the other man’s earnest¬ 
ness. Although he secretly rejoiced in this exchange 
of confidence which drew them together, yet his 
conscience told him that he was not doing the 
manly thing in sharing the affairs of his intimate 
family life with an outsider. Truly commendable 
people did not do such things. He felt himself 
something of a cad. But this night his resistance 
was low. Even if the principle was wrong, the 
relief was comforting. 

“Now my idea of marriage, Alden,” Griggs 
continued, “ is that the vast majority of people 
take the matter selfishly. They consider that, 
outside of the state of child-bearing, it is an institu¬ 
tion in which they can indulge themselves to the 
utter extent of their selfishness. Literally this: 
other than perpetuating the race to as small or as 
great a degree as they choose, they believe they 
owe humanity nothing in the development of this 
movement.” 

Alden did not quite get his meaning at this 
point. 


340 


THE LOGGER 


“ Well, we make a merger in business so that we 
can strengthen our facilities, do we not? Yes 
Then why not consider marriage on the same 
basis? I sincerely believe that first and foremost 
we all owe our lives to humanity. The betterment 
of the race! This is my slogan. If there is not a 
spark of that divine love for our fellowmen burning 
in our bosoms, then I don’t believe we are worth 
the space we occupy on the face of this earth.” 

Alden smiled. 

“ How good it is to hear some one say this when, 
for some months, I have been under the influence of 
two very opposing faculties.” 

Griggs nodded. 

“ yes — Well, I believe that marriage should be 
the strengthening of our faculties toward helping 
mankind. We will leave the physical and the 
romantic phase out of this. That comes naturally 
— Now when a husband or a wife ceases to 
recognize this duty, then they are not doing their 
part. If it is true that your wife has opposed you 
in everything you have desired to do toward the 
development and aid of the welfare of your 
fellowmen, then she proves what a selfish creature 
she is, and you owe her nothing. No matter how 
much it hurts to give her up, do so. Let her return 
to her parasite class. She is not worthy of you.” 

Alden flushed. 

“ Oh, my dear Griggs, I am not such a paragon 
as all that! ” 

Griggs shook his head. 


THE LOGGER 


341 


“Not necessarily a paragon, no — But a man 
who is indispensable to his fellowmen, and the dear 
Lord knows that there are all too few of them in 
this world.” Griggs paused and observed Alden 
gravely. “ Why, man, you have proved yourself 
in every way, principally in what you have done 
for the working men of Gray’s Harbor. And you 
may not realize that you have set an example for 
the logging men all over the Northwest. I don’t 
believe you are conscious, yourself, of the impres¬ 
sion you made on others when you went in on 
your own to establish better conditions among 
your men before being forced to do so, as many of 
the others were forced to do.” 

Alden lifted his hand. 

“ Oh, but that wasn’t anything highly com¬ 
mendable. It was merely an experiment — ” 

Griggs pounded the chair arm with his fist. 

“ But I say it was commendable. Shafer of the 
Shafer Logging Company out of Seattle told me 
the last time he was in Portland about a delegation 
of them visiting you this summer. How they 
visited your camps and found the men contented 
and putting out more work than any crew of men 
had ever done before. It could not be denied that 
their efficiency was due to their being clear¬ 
headed, well fed, comfortably established. Shafer 
said they were one and all for adopting your 
measures without further delay.” 

Griggs reached over and laid a hand on Alden’s 
arm. 


342 


THE LOGGER 


“ I want to see you buck up, Alden. It is not 
right of you to give up this way. Of course, your 
family comes first, but I don’t believe you realize 
what an influential man you are in the State of 
Washington. You are still young in years and also 
in business experience. I want to tell you a little 
story and I do not believe it will be long until my 
prophecy will prove true. 

“ A number of big corporations are watching 
you closely, Alden, and sooner or later one of them 
is going to pick you up. Men of your type are not 
to be found every day. The corporation that 
wants you is going to bid high. Now I am going 
to give you a word of advice. When the psycho¬ 
logical moment arrives, don’t turn it down. 

“ High finance must be handled these days 
through corporations. And combining capital and 
credit is the only way in which to carry on these 
great enterprises. Added to this there must be 
brains, and that is the element that cannot be 
bought. There is a lot of stir and hubbub about 
corporations and capitalists, but just let some 
individual try to take the world by the tail alone, 
and see how far he gets — ” 

Alden rose and reaching for his hat turned to 
Griggs. 

“ Mr. Griggs, I cannot tell you how much your 
advice has helped me tonight. A man can face a 
multitude of reverses in a business way, but just 
one little bad turn in a personal matter— ” He 
hesitated. 


THE LOGGER 


343 


Griggs smiled. 

“Will throw him off key.” 

Alden nodded. 

“ That is it exactly.” He moved toward the 
door. Griggs rose and came to him with out¬ 
stretched hand. 

“ I hope I have helped you,” he said. “ It was 
not a desire to pry into a man’s private affairs 
which led me to talk to you as I have tonight. But 
the moment I saw you down there in the dining 
room I knew that you were in trouble. Before you 
go, I want to add one word.” He paused. “ Do 
all you can to make things right between yourself 
and your wife. Have an understanding with her—” 

Alden moved impatiently. 

“ Oh, I have tried all that a thousand times —” 

“Well, then look at the matter in a cold-blooded, 
matter-of-fact business way. Sever your relations 
with her — this sounds most horribly harsh coming 
from one man to another, but good sound sense 
compels me to say it — and then, perhaps, some¬ 
time — you will find a woman who will love and 
respect you enough to work to your interest as 
well as her own. The world is full of them.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


All that his friend had said to him at the Hotel 
St. Francis in San Francisco had sounded very 
plausible to Alden at the time. But arriving 
home again, the past rose before him menacingly. 
A dreadful fear overtook him. The speech which 
he had prepared to make to Tesa on his return 
now seemed very crude and irrelevant. 

Reaching Humptulips, he found that he was 
badly needed in camp. A number of minor 
difficulties had arisen. Consequently he was too 
busy for the next few days to go to Tesa. 

He learned from the maid that Mrs. Alden was 
confined to her room and still refused to see 
anyone. 

“ Of course, in that event, she is in no condition 
to approach,” he told himself, glad for an excuse 
to defer the interview. Going on about his business 
he had no word from her nor she from him, other 
than his inquiry about her health. 

This situation might have continued for days 
had it not been that Wainright came to the house 
to see Tesa one evening. Up in the Quiniault 
valley hunting with Charley Mitchell for a week, 
Wainright knew nothing of Alden’s return during 
his absence. Eager to know from Tesa’s lips if 
she were any more reconciled, he hurried to see her. 

344 


THE LOGGER 


345 


Immediately upon his inquiry the maid came 
down with the word that Mrs. Alden would 
receive him. 

From the living-room Alden overheard the 
conversation between Wainright and the maid 
who were in the hall. In an instant he was furious. 
His wife receiving another man, yet refusing to 
admit him into the privacy of her boudoir! What 
a fool he had been to let this despicable white¬ 
faced son of a diabolical class court his wife in his 
own house as if she were a seventeen-year-old girl! 

He rushed into the hall. Wainright was mount¬ 
ing the stairs. Alden leapt the steps three at a 
time, and grasping Wainright by the arm whirled 
him about. 

“You contemptible cur, what do you mean by 
going to my wife’s rooms in this manner! ” 

Wainright smiled insolently. 

“ It was your wife’s orders.” 

Alden pointed down at the outside entrance. 

“ And it is my order that you get out that 
door before I kick you out. I also give you to 
understand that so long as Tesa is my lawful 
wife, you are to stay away from her. Afterward, 
your relationship with her will no longer be my 
affair.” 

Wainright shrugged as Alden let loose his arm. 

“ Very well, David, as you wish.” Turning 
about, he made his way down the steps and left 
the house. 

Hearing their voices, Tesa had come out into 


346 


THE LOGGER 


the hall. She called to Wainright but, drawing 
nearer the head of the stairs, discovered that he 
was just closing the door behind him. Wildly 
indignant, she turned on Alden. 

“ What right have you to order my friends out 
of my house! ” 

Alden did not reply. He was still too angry. 
He feared he might say something which he 
might afterward regret. He went on up the 
stairs and taking Tesa by the arm led her into 
her room. Closing the door behind them, he 
motioned her to sit down and control herself. 
She made little effort to evade him. Looking upon 
her pale and drawn face, he could not refrain 
from feeling a pang of sorrow for her. It was 
plainly evident that she was fighting a losing 
fight. 

Taking a seat beside her, Alden reached out 
for her hand. But as always she drew away. He 
pretended not to notice this. 

“ Tesa, I have wanted to have a talk with you 
ever since I came back from San Francisco. 
I was going to wait until you were stronger. Yet 
I believe if we should come to an understanding, 
perhaps it would help you. I believe most of 
your suffering is mental.” He paused and looked 
at her whimsically, but Tesa’s marble features 
revealed nothing. He continued: 

“ I realize now that we have reached a crisis. 
I have come to give you your freedom—” He 
noticed that she moved uneasily. “ Yes, I suppose 


THE LOGGER 


347 


you think it strange of me to say this after fighting 
a divorce as I have all this time. But now I have 
come to look upon it as a relief. We could neither 
of us endure longer under this strain. You 
remember the reason I would not give you your 
freedom long ago was because of the children.’’ 
He paused and sighed deeply. “ That obstruction 
is no longer in your way —” 

Leaning back in her chair Tesa wept softly. 
Sitting silently beside her, Alden wondered why 
he was no longer affected as he once was when 
she gave away to her emotions. All he now felt 
was a terrifically dull sensation in both heart and 
mind. Presently, she began to sob loudly. 

“ Oh, I can’t, I can’t go on. I want to die and 
get out of this misery! ” 

A spark of hope flamed in Alden’s breast. He 
reached out to her unconsciously. 

‘‘Tesa, do you think we might — make it up — 
even yet —” 

“ No, no — that is out of all reason — It’s just 
that it is going to be so hard to go on — alone —” 
The spark of hope died, and Alden found himself 
relieved that it had. He was prompted to ask 
Tesa how about Wainright — this sounded as if 
she were not sure of him — but his finer sense 
would not permit him to at such a critical moment. 

He studied her as she sat huddled miserably 
in her chair. He thought of how he had once 
loved her. Now that love was dead, absolutely 
dead. If it had revived for an instant a moment 


348 


THE LOGGER 


before, that was merely an illusion. Other than 
a deep pity for her and a pang of regret that their 
lives had turned out as they had, he was unmoved. 

Her words proved that her utter selfishness 
was still uppermost in her thoughts. Even the 
death of the children had not altered this. She 
dreaded that she must go on alone. Perhaps now, 
realizing that he no longer loved her, she saw 
what she was losing. But if so, she was assured 
that it was too late. She knew he was the type of 
man whose affection once turned, could never be 
rekindled. 

“ She dreads to go on alone. How about the 
empty years ahead of me? ” Alden shuddered. 
He dare not think of it. 

He waited for a time, anxiously hoping that 
the miserable interview would end. Presently, 
feeling there was nothing more that he could 
say or do, he rose and left the room. He tried to 
throw off the dreadful depression which obsessed 
him, but it seemed impossible. Remembering 
that he had some essential business to attend to in 
Seattle next day, he ordered the chauffeur to 
bring the car around. He would go to town that 
night so that he would not have to rise so early 
the next morning to catch the first train. 

Alden was gone for three days. When he 
returned he learned that Tesa had left for Chicago 
with Wainright the day before. She had discharged 
all the help but the chauffeur who refused to leave 
until Alden returned. 


THE LOGGER 


349 


There was no word from Tesa. She had left as 
unceremoniously as if there had been no more 
intimacy between herself and Alden than between 
two strangers. This wounded him deeply. It was 
harder than the death of the children. There 
had been a farewell with them. The memory of 
the last good-night kiss from Maribel Marie, 
and Dunny’s loving good-bye that morning of 
the tragedy were memories which he would 
forever cherish in his heart. 

Yet in thinking the matter over, he asked 
how else could Tesa and he have parted? When 
two people have lived as man and wife for a 
number of years, it is hard to part as enemies 
and yet, if they have once loved, it is hardly 
possible to part as friends. 

His utter dislike of divorces made him feel that 
he was in a shameful and most unpleasant situa¬ 
tion. He could not get the disturbing thought 
out of his mind that he had lost in one of the most 
important issues of his life. 

During the days that followed he tried to put 
everything behind him by plunging into his 
financial affairs. He went at his work with a sort 
of restless frenzy. Even the men in camp noticed 
it. Tim saw it and did all he could in his rough 
way to console Alden. They spent their evenings 
in long heart-to-heart talks regarding life and the 
innumerable problems which creep in upon one 
unawares. 

One night, during long and wakeful hours in 


350 


THE LOGGER 


which he lay pondering, the thought of Posey 
came to Alden. So poignant was this thought 
after the many weeks of forgetfulness, it was 
almost as if Posey had returned from another 
world. A surge of mingled joy and regret swept 
him. He sat upright in bed and gazed out into 
the darkness. 

“ How could I have been so distracted with 
my own woes that I should forget the very one I 
should have remembered? Why, there is one 
understanding soul left—” 

Alden had not seen Posey since she left their 
home. He never learned the exact reason why 
she left, but surmised that there had been trouble 
between Tesa and her. Owing to the circumstances 
he was glad that she had not been with them 
during those past weeks. 

So troubled and grieved with his own personal 
matters, he had not thought of the night that he - 
had held Posey in his arms and seemed to catch 
a vision that she was his mate. The bitter experi¬ 
ence through which he had just gone had 
dulled this vision. Perhaps after all it was as 
much of an illusion as all the other things in his 
life which he had believed to be beautiful. But 
while he lay pondering that night, his love for 
Posey did return; yet in a new and strange form. 

Suddenly an infinite tenderness filled his heart. 
He thought of Posey as one related to all that 
he had lost in his wife and his children. Here 
was one who might fill the void in his life! 


THE LOGGER 


351 


He recalled the years in which he had patiently 
administered to Posey the rudiments of the finer 
and higher principles 6f education. How ardently 
she had sought to develop a taste for good music, 
literature, art of every kind. It had been like the 
eager little woods-flower growing beneath the 
underbrush, seeking the rays of the sun when it 
filtered through the trees. 

Alden’s fancies began to control him again. 

“ Why, Posey is a part of me! As my little 
boy and girl were a part of me physically, this 
child is a part of me mentally and spiritually. 
I must not abandon her now.” 

He found himself growing very hungry for her. 
It gave him new fervor and hope that he might 
soon see her again. He would see her again, too. 
He would go to her. 

As if that silent call had again rung from his 
soul to hers, the next evening, although it was 
late when he came to his deserted home, Alden 
was surprised by seeing a light in the living-room. 
Entering the hall, he could hear the welcome 
crackle of fire on the hearth. He wondered who 
his visitor might be, and yet when he found Posey 
sitting calmly before the fireplace, he was not at 
all astonished. Posey looked up and smiled. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Alden. I suppose you 
wonder at my being here—” 

He moved toward her and held out his hand. 

“ Not at all, Posey. I am very happy to find 
you here.” 


352 


THE LOGGER 


“ Are you? ” She regarded him seriously for a 
moment. “ Mother McKnight and I decided 
that it was dreadful for you to be here all alone — 
and in trouble.” She paused an instant and then 
hurried on. “We came over this afternoon and 
cleaned things up about the house. Mother 
McKnight said she expected you were sick of 
eating at the cookhouse, so she did some baking.” 
Posey nodded her head toward the dining room. 
“ There’s some of her apple sauce cake in there 
and a veal pie with mashed potatoes and creamed 
peas. She remembered that was what you liked 
most of all —” 

Alden’s face lighted with pleasure. 

“ Posey! How splendid of both of you.” 

“ Oh, that wasn’t anything at all. Mother 
McKnight had to get right back home, but I said 
I wanted to wait and see you. I wanted to tell 
you that everybody hadn’t forgotten you— ” 

Alden dropped down beside her and drew her 
hand in his. Posey saw his throat contract, his 
eyes were almost tearful. 

“ Dear child, I am not deserving of your 
remembrance or your kindness—” 

Posey’s eyes widened. 

“Why? ” 

“ The way I have neglected you since you so 
heroically tried to save my little boy and girl 
that day—” 

She shook her head and tried to assume 
indifference 


THE LOGGER 


353 


“ That wasn't anything, Mr. Alden. If — if 
I only might have saved little Dunny and Sissy 
Mobo —” Tears sprang to her eyes. She strove 
to keep them back. “I — I’d do it again — a 
thousand times—” 

Alden studied her gravely. 

“ Dear child — because you loved them so? ” 

Posey’s eyes grew limpid. A faint smile 
trembled on her lips. 

“No, not only that, Mr. Alden — but also 
because I love you so —” 

Turning pale, Alden drew back. He almost 
feared what he saw in the girl’s eyes. 

“ No, no, Posey, you must not love me in that 
way! You must never love anyone like that — 
and suffer what I have suffered.” He buried his 
face in his hands. “ God forbid that anyone so 
sweet and lovely as you must endure the pain 
and disillusion which I have endured, am still 
enduring —” 

“ Mr. Alden, this isn’t an illusion! ” said Posey 
so fiercely that he looked up at her amazed. “ This 
is real! ” 

He bent toward her. 

“You mean you love me that way, Posey? ” 

She nodded vehemently. 

“ I do.” 

“ But you are such a child. Are you sure you 
know your mind? ” 

Springing to her feet, Posey stood before him 
defiantly. 


354 


THE LOGGER 


“I am not a child. I am a woman and I do 
know my own mind.” 

Still he could not be convinced. His senses 
were still too dulled to grasp the significance of 
such promise. 

“ Posey, dear, stop to think a moment. You 
have never known another man who meant as 
much in your life as I because—” He could not 
argue farther. The truth was too obvious there 
in her eyes. It could not be denied that, at least 
in that moment, she meant what she was saying. 
Suddenly overwhelmed, he caught her in his arms. 
“ Listen, Posey, if this hurts, forgive me — but — 
but I could not accept your love on such uncertain 
grounds —” He drew her closer into his embrace. 

Unashamed Posey flung her arms about his 
neck. 

“ But I want you, Mr. Alden. I have loved you 
all along and that is why I never even tried to 
care for another man. I wanted you.” 

Alden pressed her wet cheek against his. 

“Yes, dear, I — I have loved you too since 
the first moment I ever saw you but —” Confused, 
he paused for words with which to express himself. 
“You see I was a married man and — and I must 
do the honorable thing. I did think I loved my 
wife, even until just a few weeks ago. I was sure 
of it — There is so little distinction between the 
artificial and the real, even in love — that we 
are prone to make mistakes. So don’t you see it is 
hard for me to feel the significance of this, when 


THE LOGGER 


355 


it is so soon after my trouble? I am still perplexed 
and — and afraid—” He released Posey and 
held her out at arm’s length. 

“ You must give me a few moments to think. 
In moments of this kind it is not so easy to make 
quick conclusions. We often imagine what we 
would do under similar circumstances, but a 
conscientious person cannot act upon sudden 
impulses.” 

Rising, he walked up and down the room 
thoughtfully for a time. When he glanced over 
at Posey sitting quietly upon the davenport, he 
chided himself for not being the type of man who 
would instantly take up his life with this charming 
young girl and forget that there had ever been 
anything in his past life. But he was too serious- 
minded for that. Presently he went to sit beside 
her again. He looked eagerly into her eyes. 

“ Posey, I am going to give you a test. Suppose 
you go out into the world for two years, perhaps 
more —” 

Posey clung to him desperately. 

“ No, no, I want you now! ” 

He smiled sadly. 

“ That is impossible, dear. I am not even a 
divorced man. I could not marry you until a 
certain length of time after my wife divorces me. 
In the meantime suppose you go away to school. 
You are still very young — You seem but a child 
to me. That is why it is hard to surrender all 
that is in my heart to you.” He paused. “ There 


356 


THE LOGGER 


is quite a difference in our ages, remember.” 

She looked up hastily. 

“ Only about fifteen years—” 

“ One year is as much as ten between youth and 
old age.” 

She shook her head. 

“ But you will never be old aged to me —” 

He stroked her cheek fondly. 

“Now listen, how does this sound to you. 
Suppose you go east. I can send you to friends of 
mine in Chicago where you can enter a finishing 
school. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime 
for you. You have regretted that you did not 
have more education. This would be the chance.” 
Alden paused and was silent for some moments. 
“ And then, at the end of a few years, if you 
still care—” 

Posey was hurt that he still doubted her. 

“ Oh, but, Mr. Alden, I will! I will! ” 

Suddenly a surge of tremendous joy again 
swept him, as it had that night out there upon 
the road. He caught Posey again to his heart 
and held her trembling against his breast. 

“ Posey, dear little Posey, I wish that all the 
sorrow that I have experienced in the past months 
might be far behind me and that I could marry 
you tonight, this moment! There is no doubt 
in my heart of my love for you. I believe you to be 
everything I desire, mentally, spiritually, physi¬ 
cally and yet — before I am willing to surrender 
I must know that you are truly in love with me 


THE LOGGER 


357 


and not merely fascinated.” He held her face 
up to his and looked hungrily into her eyes. 

“ Understand that you are facing a grave 
problem when you give yourself to me. For when 
I have the proof of your love there will be no 
turning back. The next Mrs. David Alden shall 
have no divorce —” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


For several days during the first week of the 
following June there was high excitement among 
the men of the Alden Logging Works. As a result 
of a certain announcement there had been a wild 
and riotous uproar which ended in the wrecking of 
“ sky pieces.” It had been necessary to send to 
Hoquiam for sixty-seven new hats to cover the 
heads of sixty-seven out of the several hundred 
employees of the Alden Logging Company, 
Incorporated. 

“ Ole Tim was goin’ tu take unto himself a wife. 
Ha! Ole Tim — think of it! Already up in 
Tacoma, where the prospective bride lived, makin’ 
preparations fer the big show. The knot was tu be 
tied June 3. The bridal couple was goin’ tu 
Portland fer their honeymoon an’ then cornin’ on 
back tu Humptulips. 

“ Well the ole timers was gittin’ up a blow-out 
fer the bride an’ groom. It was goin’ tu be pulled 
in camp. None o’ the rough stuff, though — see — 
No booze — tu speak of? Jist a big feed an’ a 
shindig. Hirin’ an orchestra tu come up from 
Aberdeen. Some class — eh? But nothin’s too 
good fer ole Tim. ’S’nough tu make the whole 
gang jump on their hats. Ole Tim gittin’ spliced! 
Ha — what d’yu know ’bout it? ” 

358 


THE LOGGER 


359 


Happy Lenon and Johnny Moran were on the 
program committee. The only one who did not 
approve of every plan for the entertainment was 
old Whitey. He confided to Paddy McTigh, Jim 
McGovern, Frank Hymer and Mike Higgens his 
regret that he was not called upon to furnish the 
music for the occasion. 

“ Dey tink I am not gude enough fer deir high- 
class doin’s.” Swallowing hard, Whitey took 
refuge in a chew of “ snuss.” “ Veil to hell vid 
dem. I play yust so gude music as dey haf now 
days, long bevore any of dem joung upstarts vas 
born. Hey, Paddy?” He looked wistfully at 
Paddy. 

Paddy nodded significantly. 

“ Yez are damn right, Whitey. Yez can play 
good ’nough fer onybody yit, too. But yez are not 
goin’ to spile Tim’s party be grouchin’. Jist fergit 
it fer the prisint.” 

Happy and Johnny spent almost one entire 
night decorating the dining room of the cook 
shack. Fastening long festoons of gaily-colored 
cr£pe paper to the three acetylene gas lamps which 
hung from the ceiling, they draped them about the 
table. Garlands of cedar tied with gorgeous cr£pe 
paper bows hung upon the walls. Behind a bower 
of cedar branches extravagantly decorated with 
paper roses, they improvised a nook for the 
orchestra. 

Grinning with childish pride, Happy stepped 
back and viewed their work. 


360 


THE LOGGER 


“ Some class, eh? ” 

Johnny paused and looked about the room. 

“ Now you’re talkin’, Happy.” 

“ But nothin’s too good fer ole Tim.” 

“ You said it.” 

“ Guess there ain’t hardly any o’ the ole timers 
but what’ll be here to the feast, is they, Johnny? ” 

“ Guess ever’one but ole Cap Murry an’ Frank 
Jerome.” 

Happy was silent for a moment. 

“ Yep, that’s right, they are gone—” He 
returned to his work. “ Well, I don’t know but 
what Jerome is better off by gettin’ killed there in 
the woods last winter. He was hittin’ the pipe too 
strong. I think the dope would o’ got ’im pretty 
soon anyway. He was gettin’ worse all the time. 
Remember the time that bohunk jumped on ’im 
an’ knocked ’im out? ” 

“ Yeah.” 

“ Well, he was pretty near down an’ out right 
then.” 

“ Yeah. Guess you’re right at that — They said 
that was how the tree come to hit ’im. He was so 
full o’ hop that he didn’t know enough to watch 
where he was goin’.” 

Happy shook his head sadly. 

“ Yep, I remember. Poor ole Jerome. Poor 
devil.” 

Happy and Johnny bought up all the chickens 
in Humptulips. Mother McKnight, bent on taking 
a part in the preparations, baked cakes by the 


THE LOGGER 


3(51 


score and pies and cookies and doughnuts, this, 
however, much to the chagrin of Aunt Sally 
Mullen. J 

When they came into the store to impart the 
news to her, she was highly indignant. 

“You boys alius have favored her. There are 
others in Humptulips who can cook as well as 
Mother McKnight.” 

Happy and Johnny exchanged uneasy glances. 
Johnny quickly spoke: 

“ Good Lord, should think you had ’nough to do, 
Aunt Sally, without beefin’ ’cause someone don’t 
give you a thanky job! ” 

Aunt Sally’s near-sighted eyes lighted a trifle. 

“ Well, if I thought it was that, ’stead o’ yer 
thinkin’ that she was the only woman in the world 
that could stir up a cake or bake a pie — ” 

Johnny winked at Happy. 

Gosh, no, Aunt Sally! I should say not. Gee 
whillikers! what d’yu think — we ain’t got no 
brains or somethin’?” Johnny paused. “Now 
you jist fergit it — See? Jist remember that 
you’ve got a gilt-edged invitation as one o’ the 
’specially invited guests to the party.” 

Buying two pounds of chocolates and a dozen 
oranges, Happy and Johnny departed. They 
stopped in to see Mother McKnight. 

Mother McKnight was now keeping house for 
Alden. 

“ Not a single thing to do all day but just see 
that the hired girl does her work right,” she told 


362 


THE LOGGER 


the two men that day. “ But let me tell you,” she 
lowered her voice confidently, “ I do most of the 
cooking. Course Mr. Alden don’t know a thing 
about it, but he likes good things to eat and I know 
how he likes them cooked. I have to laugh when 
several times he has said: ‘ Mother, that girl is a 
splendid cook. Sometimes I almost suspect that 
you are preparing the meals — .’ Then he will 
stop and look at me with them eyes of his. ‘ But 
don’t you forget that I invited you here to have a 
home, not a job,’ he’ll say, just like that.” Mother 
McKnight nodded her head knowingly. “ And I 
never let on. I know how easy it is to fool a man — 
And, my, was there ever a man that had a heart in 
him like Mr. Alden? ” 

“ Nope, unless it’s ole Tim,” said Happy. 

Mother McKnight’s brows knitted. 

“ That reminds me: who are you going to get to 
cook your chickens? ” 

“ Ole Ramrod. You knew he was back, didn’t 
you? ” 

“ No! Is Dan back? ” 

“ Yep. Got back week before last. He’s cookin’ 
over in Camp 2. We’re goin’ to get him to cook the 
chickens because, if you can keep ’im sober, he’s 
the best man cook in the State of Washington.” 
Remembering the pride Mother McKnight took in 
her culinary art, Happy drew strong emphasis upon 
the “man.” “ The ole cuss kicked like the dickens 
an’ said he wasn’t hired out fer a banquet cook, but 
Johnny an’ me both told ’im that he’d either cook 


THE LOGGER 


368 


this feed or we’d take ’im out an’ stand ’im up 
against a stump an’ shoot ’im full o’ holes. Then 
o’ course he laughed an’ come through like he 
always does when you call his bluff.” 

The morning Tim arrived in camp with his bride 
every man was eager to get a peek at their fore¬ 
man’s “ sidekicker.” The first thing Tim did was 
to call a holiday. He announced that everybody 
could do anything he pleased except go to town. 
The day was theirs, but they must be on hand to 
go to work the next morning. He brought out 
cigars and wine enough so that each man had a 
chance to drink to the bride. 

“ Go on, boys, help yourselves,” he announced 
from the door of his office, “ do anything you want. 
The place is wide open today.” 

But few of the men got intoxicated. They were 
more intent upon the celebration which was to take 
place that evening. It was quite a task to keep it 
concealed from Tim so that he would be sur¬ 
prised. 

All during the morning there was much confusion 
in the bathhouse of each camp. There was shaving 
and hair cutting, shoe shining and much brushing 
of best suits which had not been worn since 
Christmas. They were all bent on looking their 
best. 

Happy Lenon, immersed in the depths of a 
delightfully hot bath, was surprised by a staccato 
of furious knocking upon the bathroom door. 

“ Who’s there? ” 


364 


THE LOGGER 


“ Hey, Happy, let me in quick.” The voice was 
Johnny’s. 

“ Help yerself. Nothin’ stoppin’ yu. The door’s 
unlocked. If yu think I’m goin’ to get up out o’ 
here to open it, you got a think cornin’ — ” By 
this time Johnny had wrenched the door open and 
burst in upon him. Johnny’s eyes glowed. 

“ I seen ’er! ” 

“ Seen who? ” 

“ The bride.” 

“ The hell — did you honest? ” 

“ Yep.” 

“ What does she look like? ” 

Johnny’s eyes rolled significantly. 

“ Look like! Good Lord, she looks like ole Tim 
had gone an’ robbed somebody’s cradle. I bet that 
kid ain’t dry behind the ears yet — ” 

Happy’s glistening face twisted grotesquely. 

“ The devil you say! ” 

“ ’Sright.” 

Happy shook the lather from his hair and ducked 
his head under the water to rinse it. Presently, the 
soapy water streaming from his face, he looked up 
at Johnny. 

“ Well, I’m damned. They’s no fool like an ole 
fool.” 

Coming out of the bunkhouse, freshly shaved and 
well groomed in their best suits, the eyes of those 
sitting about on boxes and benches in the sun 
followed Happy and Johnny admiringly. When 
they had passed, one man spoke: 


THE LOGGER 


365 


“ If they’s a girl over there in Humptulips that’s 
got a lick o’ sense when they come over to the 
doin’s tonight — why, they’ll be two more weddin’s 
in the near future.” 

Up the street, Happy and Johnny stopped a 
moment at Hoggens’ shack. Hoggens and Sky 
Pilot were seated in the door; the one with a pencil 
in his hand and a writing pad resting on his knee, 
the other with his eyes upon the horizon of the 
forest, talking in his usual frenzied manner. 

“ And I say unto you, the Kingdom of God is 
near at hand — ” reached the ear of Happy and 
Johnny. The two young men hailed him. 

“ Hey there, Sky Pilot, cut it! Cheese it! 
You’re way off yer base. This old world ain’t goin’ 
to end fer a long time yet. It never was better — ” 

Sky Pilot looked up with his ministerial air. 

“No, no, fellow loggers, you are wrong. The 
word of God is being swiftly fulfilled. In the 
Scriptures it says — ” 

Happy and Johnny turned indifferently to 
Hoggens. 

“ What you doin’, Dreamer? Writin’ an ode to 
Springtime? ” 

Looking up with tremendous seriousness, Hog¬ 
gens shook his head. 

“ No, I am preparing a poem for Tim and the 
new Mrs. McAvoy.” He looked complacently 
down at the scrawl of lines upon the pad. “ I think 
this is to be the greatest piece of work I have ever 
done yet.” 


366 


THE LOGGER 


Grinning good-naturedly, Happy and Johnny 
walked away arm in arm. When they were out of 
hearing, Johnny laughed. 

“ Poor ole Dreamer, he’s sure ’nough bugs.” 

Presently, with little pretense at harmony but 
with a greater effort at making a noise, Happy and 
Johnny’s deep masculine voices rose away up the 
road. 

“ T’sh, brother loggers, don’t you sigh 
We’ll all be sky pilots bye-an’-bye. — ” 

When it was reported that Mr. Alden was com¬ 
ing home especially for the occasion, Happy and 
Johnny arranged that he was to have the seat of 
honor at the head of the table, Mother McKnight 
at the foot and the bride and groom in the middle. 

With careful precision Happy pinned the last 
paper rose upon the cedar bower. 

“ if Posey was only here ever’thing would be fine 
an’ dandy.” 

“ Wonder when she’s cornin’ back,” said Johnny. 

“ Oh, it’ll be a long time. She ain’t been gone 
six months yet. Mother McKnight says she’ll be 
away two years, anyhow.” Happy was silent for a 
moment. “ Funny ’bout Alden takin’ such a shine 
to her, wasn’t it? Wonder if he ain’t kinda stuck 
on ’er? Now that ’is wife flew the coop — wonder 
if sometime he won’t up an’ marry Posey — ” 

Johnny’s thoughts were more intent upon the 
effect of the banquet hall right at that moment 
than they were on Alden and his heart interests. 
He looked at Happy absently. 


THE LOGGER 


367 


“ Gosh, don’t ask me — how do I know? ” 

Late in the day, after all the younger men had 
gotten out of the way, four old men, as if bent upon 
yielding to an inevitable crime, crept surrepti¬ 
tiously toward the bathhouse. Four suits of 
freshly laundered underwear tucked tightly be¬ 
neath four cautious arms, the quartette stole 
through the door and drew it shut quietly. At the 
threshold Jim McGovern groaned and looked 
hopelessly at Paddy McTigh. 

“ Nothin’ under hell, Paddy, except an earth¬ 
quake an’ Tim McAvoy’s weddin’ would o’ led me 
to sich an act.” Jim’s voice was mournful. 

Paddy nodded slowly. 

“ Yez are right, Jimmy. I feel as if I was layin* 
me life in the hands o’ the Holy Father whin I 
enters this door—” Paddy paused and for an 
instant it appeared as if he was going to turn back. 
“But this is wan night in history thot we’ve got to 
look clane an’ smell right — ” He pointed to the 
door of the bathroom. “ What else is there fer us, 
Jimmy, but thot? ” Paddy’s manner portrayed 
that of a martyr who had surrendered all hope. 

At that moment a young man came out from 
behind the curtain which divided the shower from 
the rest of the room. Four pair of eyes followed the 
splendid young giant as he crossed the room; his 
body glistening and red from the contact of cold 
water. As he moved swiftly along, his finely 
developed muscles rippled beneath his satin skin. 
Unconscious of the secret admiration of his specta- 


368 THE LOGGER 

tors he hurried vigorously into his clothes. He 
was soon gone. 

Frank Hymer looked hungrily after him. Too 
modest to tell others of his ambition, no one knew 
that Frank Hymer had once been a great boxing 
enthusiast in his early days. He had even gone so 
far as to have dreams of himself in the ring. But 
that had been long ago. Now he looked after this 
younger man with the eager pride that a father 
takes in a son who is to realize his shattered hope. 

“ That’s the kid who’s been trainin’ fer the 
boxin’ that’s cornin’ off in Aberdeen next week —” 
Frank licked his dry lips. “ He’s goin’ up to 
Seattle on the fourth to fight Jack North, the 
heavyweight champion from Idaho — ” 

“ Well, now ye don’t tell me!” Mike Higgens’ 
crooked little eyes gleamed. He pointed down at 
his own short and bowed legs. If I iver thought 
I could train ’til I’d be like that young spalpeen, 
I — I’d start in tomorry — ” 

Paddy McTigh looked at the pair of unpromising 
legs dubiously. 

“I — I wouldn’t begin it, Mike. Yez would be 
sorry yez iver started — If yez live to git out o 
this bathhouse yez’ll be doin’ a lot fer an ole mon.” 

The bathing was over, and the bathers gathered 
together to discuss this feat which they had under¬ 
taken only after strenuous measures against it. 
They inspected each other carefully. It was a 
momentous occasion. 

Panting and steaming, Jim McGovern was the 


THE LOGGER 


369 


last one to come out of the tub. Paddy McTigh 
paused in the act of drawing on his trousers. 

“ Yez lived through it, Jimmy? ” 

Mopping the perspiration from his brow, Jim 
nodded dismally. 

“Ye ain’t lookin’ at me spirit, are ye? ” 

Coming up to him, Jim was amazed by Paddy’s 
suddenly throwing back his head and laughing 
uproariously, as if at a huge joke. 

“ What the hell — ” Jim began, but Paddy 
interrupted. 

He touched Jim affectionately upon the shoulder. 
“ Lord God, Jimmy, yez are white, after all — ” 
Jim looked at him bewildered. 

“ What ye tryin’ to git through that wide 
mouth o’ yours — ye no good Irishman! ” 

Paddy gravely pointed at Jim’s clean neck and 
wrists visible where his undershirt was turned back. 

“ Yez — yez don’t know, Jimmy, how relieved I 
am after all these years — ” 

Jim’s eyes flashed fire. 

“ Relieved! What ye tryin’ to get at—Did — 
did what little sense ye got in that thick head o’ 
yers leave ye with the dirt — ” 

Paddy drew away and looked at him from head 
to foot. 

“ No, no, Jimmy, but bein’s I niver seen yez 
clane before — I—I alius thought yez had a bit o’ 
nigger blood in yez — ” 


CHAPTER XXX 


In the dusk of a late spring evening, Alden stood 
before the west window of his study. His gaze 
rested upon the evergreen wall which cut a sharp 
dark outline against the brilliant multi-colored sky 
that lifted like a filmy veil above a shroud. Alden 
found himself comparing his life to that forest and 
sky. His past was the shroud which hung low in 
the distance; the future was the bright-hued veil 
that lifted lightly and floated before him. 

Pondering over the prospects of the new and 
fuller life which lay before him, the past moved 
through his mind in kaleidoscopic swiftness. He 
smiled affably as he thought of the achievement 
which faith and hope and earnest procedure had 
brought him. 

It seemed almost incredible that the Alden 
Logging Company had made the rapid strides 
toward success which the past two years revealed. 
But there could be no denial of it. Locked in his 
safe was the evidence; a contract drawn up between 
himself and a great corporation with whom he had 
made a merger but the week before. The result of 
the contract was that the Alden Logging Company 
was now incorporated for two million dollars. He 
was president of the new firm; B. J. Stickney, of 
the Stickney, Gordon Company, the largest lumber 
370 


THE LOGGER 


371 


dealers on the Pacific Coast was vice-president; 
Tim McAvoy was general manager. 

Alden recalled the day B. J. Stickney and he had 
gone up into the woods together and gone over the 
entire situation. Standing upon a hillside, they 
looked down upon that vast wealth of timber still 
untouched. Stickney was quite overcome with the 
prospects of it. 

“ Alden, this is only a beginning. A few years 
from now, your five camps, upon which you now 
look with pride, will seem quite small then.” He 
clenched his fists as if gripping the following 
thought before sharing it with another: “Why, 
man, right here before our eyes is wealth untold for 
the corporation that goes after the big game— ” 
Alden remembered that he had been too moved to 
reply, yet he knew from the other’s eyes that he 
read his thoughts. 

“ But we’ve got to go after it in a wholesale 
manner,” Stickney continued. “ This driving the 
logs down the river is too slow, too long to wait. 
We must have a railroad.” 

Alden remembered how he had fairly gasped at 
such a prospect now being within reach. 

“ You are correct, Mr. Stickney. I have realized 
that for some time, but did not have the capital to 
attempt such a venture.” 

The other tapped him upon the shoulder con¬ 
fidently. 

“Iam not afraid to bet you my interests in the 
Company, Alden, that a few years from now we 


372 


THE LOGGER 


will have a railroad running up through this dis¬ 
trict and will be operating at least a dozen camps; 
employing from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred 
men.” 

Alden made no attempt to conceal the pleasure 
he took in this amazing prophecy. Stickney looked 
into his eyes and laughed at what he saw there. 
And then they laughed together; like two enthusi¬ 
astic boys. 

“ You like that, don’t you? ” 

Alden became very grave. 

“ My God, man, if you only knew how I have 
worked for this — ” 

The other also grew grave. 

“ I do know, Alden. No one knows better than 
I what tremendous effort a man must put into a 
proposition of this sort to drive it through. And 
then what hurts is the way the world sometimes 
looks upon the matter after he has made it. So far 
as others are concerned, few people know the hours 
of mental labor that one must apply to achieve 
success. They are so liable to say: ‘ Oh, well, he 
made his easy. Money just rolled in to him with¬ 
out his having to go after it.’ Or more cruel still: 

‘ If he hadn’t stolen right and left and robbed and 
thieved and plundered, he wouldn’t be where he is 
today.’ ” Stickney shrugged: “ But that is neither 
here nor there. It is just one little unpleasant part 
of the game.” 

The next day Alden went with him as far as 
Aberdeen. They were soon to meet again in 


THE LOGGER 


373 


Portland, but in the meantime Stickney had an 
important trip east. He was going to New York. 
On the platform of the observation car the two 
men shook hands. They talked until the train 
began to move. Before he disappeared inside 
B. J. Stickney saluted Alden boyishly. 

“ Well, good-bye, old man.” He smiled signifi¬ 
cantly. “ And here’s luck to the future Logging 
King — of the Pacific Northwest! ” 

This night as he stood before the window Alden 
thought of the significance of those words. Even 
though given half in jest, it was as if Stickney had 
figuratively crowned him the Logging King: a 
reward for all the years of effort toward this goal. 

“ What a difference a few years can make,” he 
reflected. He thought of the night he met with his 
friend in the Hotel St. Francis in San Francisco. 
His heart was heavy with sorrow that night. The 
loss of his little son and daughter weighed heavily 
upon him. His heart now pained at the memory of 
those fleeting little lives. He thought of Tesa. 

“ Poor Tesa. I feel no bitterness toward her 
now. I only hope that she has found happiness 
with Wainright. Tesa’s years and mine together 
were merely years of misfortune which it may be, 
when we each realize true love and happiness, we 
shall be the richer for having experienced.” 

The sun disappeared behind the evergreen wall. 
Darkness came on. Alden watched the streaks of 
faint lavender and rose and gold which slowly 
merged into night. 


374 


THE LOGGER 


Posey was coming home next day. He was to 
meet her in Seattle. For a moment a feeling of 
anxiety swept him. 

“ After two years with the world of people, I 
wonder if she still cares. Will she be as willing to 
give herself to me, as she was before she went out 
to search that other world and make comparisons 
between younger and more desirable men than I ? ” 
Alden walked slowly away from the window and 
lighted the lamp on his desk. His eyes fell upon the 
upturned page of a book he had been reading that 
afternoon. Scanning the lines absently, he was 
attracted by one sentence which seemed to stand 
out from all the others: “ And to him is given all 
that is best for him to enable him to climb to that 
higher and better life. — ” 

Alden was thrilled by these words. 

“ Ah, that is it,” he whispered softly to himself. 
“ If it is for the best for me, Posey shall be given to 
me — ” He returned to the window to look out 
into the velvet dusk of the night. “ If she still 
cares — what a future ours will be — ” 

His mind in a receptive mood, Alden’s boyhood 
dreams began to pour fantastically in upon him. 
He was to realize them yet! It was not too late. 
And never was the time more ripe. 

Civilization had never been more significant 
than in this twentieth century. Humanity faced 
a new era, and with the turning of the tide Alden 
saw the multitudes fleeing from the old era of fear 
and doubt or sheer fanaticism. He saw them 


THE LOGGER 


375 


accepting life as it actually was — big and broad, 
magnificent — as truly vital as they chose to make 
it. 

No more was the working man to be the chattel 
slave, the drudge. He was coming into his own. 
Education was to be his salvation. Before him 
was the life splendid, to accept freely if he was 
man enough, or to turn from if he had not the 
courage to meet it bravely. 

A mist gathered before Alden’s eyes, as if he 
was given a signal to look into that intangible 
realm which comes only to those who walk on a 
higher plane. 

“ And my mate and I shall go forth to give 
ourselves to this great cause — she by my side — 
together we shall bear ever upward and onward.” 
Suddenly overwhelmed he reached out to those 
visions which seemed so near in the soft dusk of 
that spring night. “ No, no, no — I have not lost 
my soul! Only now— now have I found it — ” 

“ Mr. Alden, did you want Martha to get you 
an early breakfast in the morning? ” 

Mother McKnight’s silver-gray head appeared 
in the open door. Alden turned. 

“ Yes, Mother, I shall be leaving early. I am 
going to take the morning train to Seattle.” 

“ All right, I will tell her. I am going to bed 
now. Good-night, Mr. Alden.” 

Alden was suddenly moved by the sweetness of 
this kind old soul whose every thought was for 
others. He felt a desire to take her in his arms and 


376 


THE LOGGER 


press her to him as he so often yearned to do to the 
mother he had never known. Moving to her side, 
he caressed Mother McKnight tenderly and 
reached down to kiss the soft cheek. 

“ Good-night, Mother,” he said. 

Presently the door closed gently behind her. 

Posey! Patrita Murry as she now called herself. 

Posey, after two years in an exclusive finishing 
school in Chicago. Alden could scarce believe that 
the marvelous creature sitting across from him in 
the luxurious parlor of the Rainier-Grand Hotel in 
Seattle was the same girl who had left him two 
years before. 

Clad in a modish attire, a modest but exceed¬ 
ingly becoming traveling suit, a gaily colored hat 
placed at just the right angle upon her head, 
Posey appeared as if she was a picture from a 
fashion magazine come to life. Stray locks of her 
flame-colored hair fell softly upon her cheeks, 
emphasizing the brightness of the hat. 

From all outward appearances she was a changed 
Posey, but in those dark and limpid eyes, Alden 
saw the trace of hidden fires which the hand of 
culture could never extinguish. 

The while she prattled on, telling him of the 
thousand and one interesting items regarding her 
stay in Chicago, her school, the people she met, he 
studied her carefully; searching her eyes for the 
truth for which he was so hungry. 

When they were quite alone that night, he 
strove to calm the tempest in his breast. This 


THE LOGGER 


377 


new Posey was maddening. A number of times 
he began to question her, but he stammered like a 
foolish boy. After a time he found his courage. 

“And now, dear, after all these months — do 
you still care — ” 

There was a shadow of pain in the eyes Posey 
turned upon him. 

“ How can you question that, Mr. Alden, when 
you know — ” 

“ Call me Dave, sweetheart — Do you still love 
me? I want to hear it from your lips.’’ 

Suddenly Posey’s eyes lighted like the turbulent 
volcano which remains dormant for many years 
only because it has never found a rift through 
which to expel the fires of its bosom. 

Alden knew his answer. He held out his arms. 
Posey fled into their shelter in tumultuous 
abandon. 

“Dave, I do! Oh, I do— After all these 
terribly long months of waiting — I do love you — 
more and more and more.” 


The End 


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